


It Never Ends

by ISweepy



Category: Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28758804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISweepy/pseuds/ISweepy
Summary: you dont gET a deschAT R I G G E R  W A R N I N G
Relationships: Vic Fuentes/Kellin Quinn
Kudos: 4





	1. Doomed

So leave the light on, I'm coming home  
It's getting darker but I'll carry on  
The sun won't shine but it never did  
And when it rains it fucking pours, but I think I like it  
And you know that I'm in love with the mess  
I think I like it

~ ~

Creating more uneven, red lines across his arms. He never knew why he kept doing it, why after he found it so ugly he kept making more. They would scar and permanently resemble what he'd done to himself. They were not battle scars. They were not drawings. They were not beautiful. They were ugly. They were sad. They were, above all, addicting. No matter how hard he tried, he could never stop, and he didn't really want to.

And he wished he could sing the lyrics with just as emotion and sincerity but in reality he couldn't because it wasn't true. Not for him, not yet, and maybe not ever. He wasn't coming home because he didn't know where home was. He always saw it as the large tan building with three bedrooms and more TV's then necessary. But it didn't seem like home anymore, not really. Home was turning into the blood and the pain and the pills and thoughts on deliberately overdosing. He just wanted to go home.

F. F for failure; F for fuck-up; F for faggot. He didn't really care whether he was gay, straight, aro, etc. But he wanted to come up with as many insults as he could, because he hated himself, and he deserved that hate.

And it was so ugly. Unbelievably so. So many lines over his scarred skin, all fresh and bleeding. It was disgusting, and that was maybe why he loved it so much. He knew it would scar and his arms would never be the same smooth skin he could show off without a care in the world, but now sleeves covered them every second of every day, because risking someone knowing just wasn't worth it.

And the longer it went on the more insane he became. He never did anything to stop any of it; he let the storm ruin him and his body for that night, and if it came again the next he continued to let it wither him away. 

This was killing him, and one day he would break. Fucking snap. Say the most insensitive things, do the most bigoted things, and by the end of the night he'd either be thrown in jail or dead. He found the latter better, even if death wasn't something he'd deliberately chase, he knew jail led to spilled secrets and spilled secrets led to some kind of hospital for him. He'd be labeled as crazy, and as time went on he couldn't quite disagree. He was insane. He wanted to set the world on fire and burn with it, he wanted to tear his fucking skin open every day, he wanted everyone to hate him so he didn't like anybody and nobody got hurt when he began to wither away due to his own self destruction.

Death was inevitable and so was insanity. Everyone loses a piece of themself, so this brought no remorse to him. 

He was fine with this.

~ ~

It always happens in the most inconvenient times. During dinner, at a party, in Vic's case, in the classroom. Seldom is it when he's alone in his room, with the door locked and the ability to feed his addiction. But at that moment, he had to sit through the same fucking lecture about classroom rules and how this year would carry out. 

But there were alternatives he could use. His attention all too focused on the edge of the paper than his finger ran down. A drop of blood smeared onto it and he could barely find it in himself to stop the painful drag. His finger continued to bleed but he barely felt it and that was what ticked him off more than anything. It hurt the most on your fingers because your fingers have the most nerves, but when it's fresh you don't feel it till the bloods stopped. Vic wanted more. He wanted pain and blood. He wanted cuts upon cuts of the same jagged line and in moments like those he'd wonder how the fuck he got like this and then he concluded he didn't care. If he had that pain and that blood, nothing else mattered but that and feeling it. 

And nobody cared about Vic and his dilemma in the back of the class with his bloodied finger, except that one boy with too much curiosity and far too much heart. He watched Vic wipe off the smeared blood onto the paper, crinkle it up and shove it in his pocket. He watched Vic stare at the finger, bend it, and bite his lip in almost agony. But not pain, waiting. The wait for pain was agonizing.

And he watched as Vic hid his hand in his pocket and glare at the teacher, and then at him. A final warning to mind his damned business, and he took it.

At least for now. Because he was curious with too much heart and Vic was quiet with too much spite.


	2. Seen It All Before

Every second's soaked in sadness  
Every weekend is a war  
And I'm drowning in the déjà vu  
We've seen it all beforeI don't wanna do this by myself  
I don't wanna live like a broken record  
I've heard these lines a thousand times  
And I've seen it all beforeAre we close enough?  
There is something I must confide  
I think we've lost our touch  
There's no sparkle in those eyesWhat an awful mess I've made  
There's nothing left to save

~ ~

His lip hurt.

It hurt because he kept biting. For days he kept chewing on the pink skin till the corners of his bottom lip were cut and stinging, but that was the goal. Pain, the closest thing to a distraction he could get. It only made him more tired.

"Could I use the bathroom?" The words were slurred but just barely coherent. The teacher nodded, a pass for Vic to stand and rush out of the room with the sharp little razor held tightly in his hand.

And with the stall door locked he pulled it out, his palm now bleeding softly, as he rolled up his sleeve and began the events he'd done so effertlessly plenty times before. So simple of an act yet so great of an impact. The relief, the euphoria, and the scar and realization of what he'd done. Later it would taunt and tease him because he was such a fuck up he kept going back to such a destructive thing but god damn it was so addictive he didn't see a future where he stopped. He didn't really see a future period. Life didn't go on, it just stopped. He sat in time while his body grew but his mind stayed stuck. 

So slash it went. Familiar routine with identical lines and bleeding arms. He really questioned how much it helped his depleting mindset anymore, but the pain was enough to continue. Really, it only worsened his state but stopping wasn't a thing anymore. If he bled himself dry than so fucking be it. He was angry and so god damn tired and he didn't care.

"Fucking kill me!" He wanted to scream. "I fucking dare you!"

And maybe he was going insane. A few years, give or take, and he'd be in the nuthouse or squatting in dilapitated building. Yeah, that was the future he saw for himself. He was, and always would be, nothing. If he was anything it was a fucking disappointment.

It's all you are. 

Harsher was the next line. He winced. Fucking winced. Another, harder. He had to learn, right?

Maybe he would bleed himself dry. That was okay.

I'll die here. 

He was losing the ability to care, and maybe even feel, eventually. All of that was okay. He wanted to stop feeling, and more than all, being.

"Someone in here?"

Drip.

If it weren't for his pants, which were now stained with a drop of blood, Vic would have an even harder time lying to whoever was out there calling for him. 

"Yeah?" Vic called, covering up his arm with the paper towels, throwing them in the toilet, and wrapping another pair around his arm. He flushed it, rolled down his sleeves, and walked out with an innocent face.

"Good morning," He greeted. Taking a quick glance at the boy he recognized them as the snoop from yesterday. If this became a regular thing, the boy coming in on Vic's worst moments, Vic would have to make it clear how unwelcomed Kellin was.

"Good.. morning." Vic began to recognize the boy as Kellin. Not popular, nor unnoticed. Seemed he had just the right amount of friends, and just the right amount of reputation to go through school not alone and not held on a fucking pedestal like some douche. That made Vic envy him more.

"You're Vic, right?" Kellin asked, taking a step forward and seeming to gain confidence. "You should come sit out back with me and some other guys for lunch. You usually just skip, don't you?"

Yes, Vic attended the first half the day. By lunch he skipped because he realized school was useless and it took him too much energy to attend. But Kellin didn't need to know that, and he didn't need him to give Vic some reason to stick around the old building. 

"Pretty busy actually."

"Yeah? Where do you go after lunch? The park? Home? You don't seem busy. You know we still have another half a day left and if you keep skipping you'll have to retake senior year."

Vic sighed, taking a moment to stare at Kellin. 

"Nobody fucking cares. I'll drop out by then." 

He brushed past Kellin, ignoring the "cunt" muttered by the other boy. Because really, Vic agreed; he was a cunt on most occasions. It was self defense, though, so no one spoke to him, as edgy as it sounded.

And the day went as normal; Vic left after lunch, Kellin ate with his own friends. But his mind was stuck on the boy in the bathroom that stared at his paper cuts for suspiciously too long and hid in the bathroom stalls all too often.

Kellin was just too naive, and they say there's nothing wrong with that, but in this case it was fatal.


	3. Sleepwalking

Your eyes are swallowing me  
Mirrors start to whisper  
Shadows start to see  
My skin's smothering me  
Help me find a way to breathe

Time stood still  
The way it did before  
It's like I'm sleepwalking  
Fell into another hole I got  
It's like I'm sleepwalking

I'm at the edge of the world  
Where do I go from here?  
Do I disappear?  
Edge of the world  
Should I sink or swim?  
Or simply disappear?

~ ~

It was so easy to hate himself because honestly he deseved it. He deserved every bad look, every enemy, every hurtful insult, every kind of pain he recieved. He deserved it. And he couldn't shut up, he couldn't tell his mind to stop making pussy excuses for the shit he did. When it came down to it he was a bad person and every excuse had some hole; and every excuse didn't make up for what he'd done.

Vic was a monster, and he hated it.

And some people say "This is who I am, take it or leave it." Which is such an easy thing to say, and tempting, but only made them worse of a person. If Vic had any good in him it would be not using that as an excuse. 

"I'm a bad person and I don't know how to change"

Scribbled down on his notebook. So instead of changing he gave himself what he deserved; pain. But with each mark came another self loathing thought and thus another cut and the cycle continued.

Doing this for attention.

For pity.

For an excuse.

"Look at me the depressed cutter. I'm not bad just sad."

You're probably not even depressed. 

Line after line after line till the tears came as heavy as the flow of his blood. Part of him wished it would take him away too, because he deserved it, but if it begun to do so he'd grab a rag and press down on the bleeding. Because he didn't want to die, and especially not like that.

And another day it was.

Another day it would be, for god knew how long. It was endless and tiring and what Vic wished for more than anything was to collapse and never again get up, rather give up.

The smells made it worse. The smell of fresh morning air, or candles lit late at night, everything attacking him with little insignificant memories that meant so much to him. Things hurt and he felt like the author to his own story dragging the readers through a slow pitiful decline. But he didn't have a choice because a gun was to his head and the holder was threatening to shoot if he didn't continue what had become his life. And he was the one holding the gun.

Self sabotage. He was ruining his own life with nearly every act but he didn't know how to stop and if he really wanted to. 

The fresh cold air smelled of memories he couldn't place his finger on. They were there holding some significance but Vic couldn't remember exactly what part of his life it was.

Fresh morning air, like the December months of seventh grade. He was so naive but happy, to its own extent. His arms were a mess of scarred skin but he was still relatively happy. You can do these things to yourself and feel this way but still be happy, still smile and that's what fools people the most. Your smile seemed so genuine before, maybe it was, so what happened? 

And the memory of those times hurt more than his back or his stomach because those hurt too and really he was uncomftorable and wished to move but couldn't. He didn't have the energy to so much as cut anymore and that was a first. The fresh lines weren't appealing anymore and instead new memories came from a fresher time and things were falling apart then, too, but god he still had that fucking hope. That stupid naive thought that if his idols could so could he and he scoffed at how stupid it was.

Now he knew that was all bullshit and the way he was would be how it would stay. His idols could do it and for that he was grateful, his idols deserved a better life and maybe it brought along another naive soul but this time they did recover. But Vic was too far deep and he was stubborn.

He was ready for it to carry him away.

His mind had become so obsessed with the idea of floating away because the water around his skin and his hair making him look elegant. The fresh blood making tiny red rivers inside the ocean blue water while it filled his lungs replacing the oxygen till he was nothing but another forgotten corpse in the sea. He feared death with a passion and he didn't want it but floating away seemed so peaceful compared to this, so why not?

A chuckle. "I'm insane." There was a lighthearded tone to his words, because some part of him had to be that way or he'd snap and start sobbing. So be laughed miserably at his own words till the laughs were cries and tears and yes, he looked insane and he was waiting for the men in white suits to carry his struggling body away while someone put an anesthetic in him. It couldn't be much worse than this. In the movies they'd call it hell but Vic was already there, there was nothing much worse than what he'd put himself in already.

"That's enough for tonight," he muttered with a sniffle, the fresh air still infiltrating his lungs and thus his mind with old memories of times that seized his heart. He packaged up the blades, all but one in the kit for his mothers glasses (the old one she didn't use anymore), then put into a drawer in his desk, and the last one, the sharpest most beloved, in his phone case. It was a routine and fresh in his mind how and where to put them. 

"Tomorrow." Tomorrow was another day and another onslaught of the blades. Tomorrow was a simple word with so much meaning, because when your heads fucked up a plethora of words never mean the same to you. They're tainted with the things you do to yourself and that's what devestates you until you realize you don't care.

"Fuck, you crazy bitch, just go to bed."


	4. Wonderful Life

Alone, getting high on a Saturday night  
I'm on the edge of a knife  
Nobody cares if I'm dead or alive  
Oh, what a wonderful life

Oi, Debbie Downer, what's your problem?  
Don't wanna be here, still call shotgun  
You got the FOMO coursing through my veins (yo, yay, yo, yay)  
This is not a drill, no, this is the real world  
Domesticated, still a little feral  
Well, don't you know to chew with your mouth closed?

~ ~

There was nothing more terrifying than the eyes of your concerned teacher as they approached you. Because of unfortunately there were souls that cared and some took the profession of teachers. "I love kids!" They'd say, as if they'd lost their mind. Kids were rowdy, obnoxious, prestigious, and fucking useless. 

And then there were the people that cared and those were the ones Vic hated most. They were too kind to exist in a place like this and, well, they gave a shit. It was too risky, made him feel like a drug dealer sitting beside a cop on a subway. 

"Hey Vic, you doing okay?"

Was Vic that obvious? I mean, it was a Monday, didn't he have the right to hold a scowl and pissy attitude? 

Yes, if he just wasn't like that every day.

Okay, so it was pretty obvious something was wrong, that or he had daddy issues, which wasn't entirely wrong either, but that's besides the point. It really proved how little people actually cared.

"Yeah, course," he said with an attemptive cheery voice that made him grimace.

What the fuck.

"Talk with me after class, okay?" The teacher whose name Vic didn't even know tapped his hand against his desk and stood, walking back to his own. Vic groaned quietly, slamming his head against the desk. 

What, was he failing this class too? Probably. The teacher would pretend to care and when Vic made his lies they'd go back to their pissy teacher face and scold him for falling behind. He didn't know what class he was even in. Language arts, social studies, what had he not turned in this time? The possibilities were endless.

"You know he's just trying to help," someone said from across Vic. He raised his head in a slow, dead way and stared at the boy.

Kellin.

"What?"

"C'mon, don't give him too much attitude. Toro is a good teacher, alright? He just wants to help with whatever crawled up your ass." 

Oh, great, Kellin hated him now. No, that was perfect, wasn't it? So he'd mind his damn business. 

"I'll do what I want, thank you," Vic spat. "He doesn't actually care, you know, he's a teacher."

Kellin scoffed. "Don't bring your daddy issues into this and make everyone a villain."

"Then mind your damn business ya cockroach."

With a scoff Kellin turned his attention back to class and Vic went back to staring at his desk with every unimportant thought you could think of running through his head. 

Kellin couldn't help but steal a couple glances at Vic. Why was he such a dick to people? Why did he skip class, or make no effort to make friends? Hell it seemed he didn't want them in the first place.

Vic didn't make any sense and that was why Kellin was absolutely infatuated with him. 

The bell rung and Vic attempted to join the group of kids running out the door but Toro, as his name apparently was, called for him.

"Nice try. Look, kid," he sat down at his desk while Vic stood awkwardly. "If you don't wanna talk I totally get that, I'm just a little concerned."

"And he's where you learn not to be."

Toro laughed. "Is something going on? That, you know, you make snarky comments and a pissed face to cover up?" His gaze felt violating, as if he knew everything about Vic from that glance. Or maybe Vic was simply paranoid. Little did people interrogate him like this and he wasn't used to it.

"Not at all, you're all just immensely annoying." It wasn't entirely wrong either, everyone there was on Vic's To-Choke list. 

"Alright, kid, but try and find some friends to do the whole punk thing with. The lonely thing makes you look like Kirito."

And the teacher was a weeb. Vic wasn't surprised, really, most of the tolerable ones were.

"Yeah, sure thing." 

"You're dismissed."

Vic walked out, taking a moment to stare at the schedule in his pocket he only used for the first three classes.

Period three, history, Ray Toro.

Toro taught history, it almost didn't sit right with Vic. He looked like a hippie, or someone in a band.

But he didn't matter anymore, so Vic didn't dwell on it.

~_~_~_~

"I think I love her."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, I mean- I don't know, does it sound stupid?"

"Not at all, I'll start searching for the suit-"

"Oh my god, fuck you!"

Vic didn't want to hear the two boys conversation about the girl someone was mistakenly in love with. They were teenagers; relationships would only ever be sex to their minds. The smoke from their cigarette's had drifted to Vic's side of the wall, awag from their vision.

They started walking. At first Vic was grateful, thinking they were going the other way, but when he heard their voices getting closer he scrambled to his feet and started to walk away.

"Vic?"

God fucking damn it son of a bitch shit motherfucking ass-

"Yo, cockroach guy! Get over here." Vic was spun around by a smiling Kellin and a boy he didn't recognize.

"Cockroach guy?" The other boy laughed.

"He called me a cockroach in history so now his name is Cockroach," Kellin explained.

Vic rolled his eyes. "Okay, bye-"

"Nuhuh-uh, you're not skipping again."

"I thought you hated me?"

"No, you're a dick, but a lonely dick so you're with us now."

"Justin," the other boy extended his hand in greeting. Vic shook it with a limp grasp. Who the fuck shook hands anymore? They weren't business partners.

"Kellin, this is sweet of you, but I really couldn't care less."

"Aw come on, please?"

"Sorry, I'm busy." 

Part of him felt bad for brushing the two off but it went away when he sat on his bed with the blade in his hand. 

Just another afternoon.


	5. Talking To Myself

For everybody doing good, yeah I wish you well  
I hope you never have to go through this hell  
My head's in a cage, I'm locked in a cell  
I'm not talking shit  
I'm just talking, talking to myself

I'm not depressed, no I'm just pissed  
That I ever could have let my life come to this  
People looking up while I keep looking down  
Middle finger to the sky with my head on the ground  
I want to take it back, take it back

~ ~

Inhale through your nose, exhale through the mouth. Let it sink in. Let it numb you.

Smoking wasn't a thing he did often, but someone gave him a packet of cigarette's so their mother didn't find them, so Vic took the oppurtunity to take in the smoke.

"Never took you for a smoker."

Vic flinched, looking up at Kellin who slid down next to him. 

He shrugged. "A lot of people don't think I am what I am."

Kellin pulled out his own cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. "Then what are you?"

"A person."

"Well no shit Sherlock! Who are you, like, what are you like when you go home? Why do you act like an ass?"

"Because I can."

"God, fucking answer the question. You're like- this angsty thing of mystery and I need to fucking know what you're hiding." He stared at Vic for a moment, who stared out at the field with his cigarette. "You pretend to be an ass but something goes on in your head, constantly, and no one knows what it is. But I want to."

"No, you don't." Vic smushed his cigarette into the concrete, meeting Kellin's eyes. "I'm an ass because that's who I am, Kell Bell. There's nothing more to it."

"But that's a lie. Assholes don't admit they're asses, you acknowledge you brush people off and ruin their days, but it's not because you want to. What are you so desperate to hide?"

"If I'm hiding it, it's clear I don't want it to be known, so I won't tell you."

"But you admit you're hiding something?" Kellin smirked.

"God, fuck off." Vic stood and began walking away. 

I'm not hiding shit. People just don't care to look. You don't need to know anyways, you'll be happier if you don't.

Kellin ran to keep up. "I'm sorry, okay? I couldn't help myself. Shit's boring when you're a high schooler with mundane parents and popularity- You're the most excitment I've had in awhile."

Vic scoffed. "The person you called 'Cockroach Man' is interesting to you?"

"Well, yeah!" Kellin slung his arm around Vic's shoulder, grinning at him. "I'm sure this will be great. You need friends and I need excitment, it's perfect!"

"I don't need friends."

"Don't be an edgy teenager, just accept the fact someone wants to talk to you, dumbass. It's not the end of the world someone wants to get close to you."

Actually, it is.

"You can get friends, better ones, anywhere else. I'm not the kind of guy you want." I'm not exactly the guy anyone wants.

"You're so stubborn," Kellin whined. "Saturday, my house, the big tan one on c0ck street, you'll see it. It's movie night, see if you can make it."

And Vic was the stubborn one?

~_~_~_~

"Where ya going Vic?"

"Uh, a friends," Vic mumbled.

His mother tried to hide her shock. "What friend?"

"He's, um, Kellin. It's just a small.. movie, whatever. I don't want to go but he's annoying and whatever so I'l see you later, bye."

Vic rushed outside and towards the directions Kellin gave him. He'd been right when he said Vic wouldn't miss it. Kellin's house was large and sat at the beginning of c0ck street. Kellin himself stood smiling and waving Vic over from outside the building.

Carefully, Vic made his way over. Kellin pulled Vic inside without a word, pulling him past room he couldn't get a good look at till he was in the "movie room."

They had a fucking movie theatre in their house.

Yes, they were one of those families.

"Popcorns being made. Tonight, we're watching all the Karate Kid movies."

"Isn't the third one kinda bad though?"

Kellin shrugged. "It's alright, but shush! This is us bonding."

Vic grimaced. "You're really pushing the friend thing."

"Fine fine, we're just hanging out, alright? Now shut up and sit down, I'm putting the movie on in a minute."

~ ~

Kellin was asleep, his head on Vic's shoulder. The movies had finished and Vic was watching the credits with the blanket over him scared for the tv to turn off. He was scared of the dark; scared of falling asleep in someone else's house without his blades and the comfort they brought him.

His arms itched. Fuckfuckfuck. He scratched at his palm till there were red marks. He needed home he needed blood he needed blades and safetythiswasn'tsafe.

Calm your tits son.

Vic breathed in and out. Slowly. 

You're fine. You'll go home tomorrow and create and ocean of blood.

The thought brought him more joy than it should. It shouldn't bring him any, really.

In and out.

Even with his breathing under control his eyes watered and his throat was sore. Don't cry not here not now.

Kellin didn't wake up, though. He didn't find the mess that Vic was, because Vic slipt out before Kellin could. He went home to what was familiar.

Vic stared at the blade.

This won't ever stop, will it?


	6. Lifeboat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so if you didnt heed the warning in the desc or the many repetitve chapters, this fic is triggering and will continue to be so for quite some time. so, if this triggers you, don't read it please. your safety is vastly more important
> 
> <3!

Everyone's pushing  
Everyone's fighting  
Storms are approaching  
There's nowhere to hide  
If I say the wrong thing  
Or I wear the wrong outfit  
They'll throw me right over the side

I'm hugging my knees  
And the captain is pointing  
Well, who made her captain?  
Still, the weakest must go  
The tiniest lifeboat  
Full of people I know  
The tiniest lifeboat  
Full of people I know

~ ~

Things were becoming increasingly worse. More so than Vic ever thought they'd be, yet he denied it entirely. There wasn't anything wrong with him; he had a little "problem" that was actually fine. 

He knew it wasn't fine, he knew he wasn't fine but telling himself he was put some sort of sense of peace on him. He had to be fine, because if something was wrong it would only get worse. Vic didn't know how to get better.

He pressed the blade down in a straight line. Up and down. Vic pressed down and moved.

Vertically.

He knew what he was doing, not in a good mind, but he understood the severity and that was partly why he was doing it. 

He wanted blood spilled, he wanted to near death to the point his eyesight was blurry. And Vic got that; the blood started pouring and he watched it with too much glee. 

"Fuck, I missed this," he whispered, tracing his finger down the inch-long cut. 

His back hit the wall. He let it keep bleeding onto his jeans and the towel he'd probably have to throw away. He let himself drift, the possibility of himself not waking up almost more likely.

His eyes opened.

His arm was a mess of his own blood and Vic realized he didn't want it to actually happen but it was happening. 

The paper towels, he needed the paper towels. But the thin rolls of paper didn't stop the blood, and the water could only wash off the blood that had drifted along the sides of his arms.

Bandages. Did he have bandages?? In the drawers, there they were. In a rush, Vic tightly pulled it along his arm. Please stop please stop please stop. It didn't bleed through, that was good, right?

You'll live another day.

And while Vic sighed in relief, he wondered if he was truly happy abour that.

~_~_~_~

Everything hurt. His arms, his chest, his fucking mind. Vic was shivering and snuffling and trying to hide the bandage under his sleeve. He usually didn't care to attend to his gruesome cuts, but that one was deep and dangerous. He'd change the bandage when he got home, clean it, and take it off in a couple days. Vic was too scared to die, and for the longest time believed he didn't want to. He'd keep that cut safe for the time being.

For the time being.

And Kellin seemed to take interest in Vic and his grimacing looks, as Kellin always took notice in Vic nowadays. Something Vic remembered to fix. The teenage boy ran up to him.

"Hey, you alright?"

Vic smiled. It didn't look good on him, at least not with the hateful glare in his eyes he couldn't get rid of and, if you looked close enough, pain.

"Yeah."

Kellin frowned, chewing on his bottom lip. But before he could say anything the bell screeched and Vic ran off to first hour.

~_~_~_~

"Victor, could you stay after class?"

Shit shit shit.

Vic nodded and stayed in his seat while the rest of the class ran ahead. He pulled his hands under the desk praying Toro hadn't seen them.

He doesn't know he doesn't know he doesn't know.

But what if he did know?

Vic felt everything stop. His heart, the kids walking, Toro standing up. He couldn't know he couldn't know he can't know.

Nobody knew and nobody could ever know. 

"Vic." Toro took a seat in front of Vic. When nobody spoke, the room seemed dead quiet. Vic tried to hide how he was shaking. Fuckfuckfuck.

"You're failing my class."

He tried to hide the breath of relief. That's all it was? Vic could make it out of this. Skip this class and replace it with another one. Simple.

"Literally, no assignments have been turned in. Sure it's early in the year but.."

Toro breathed in and looked at Vic, meeting his eyes. The gaze penetrated Vic with the fear that Toro could read everything that went through the boys head on a daily basis. Those things were not, and never had been, good, and were locked away for a reason.

"I'm worried. I could call your mom and tell her about this, and how you've been skipping your afternoon classes-"

Vic straightened in his chair. Shit. No teacher ever cared enough to do so; they marked him absent or present (even if he wasn't) and went on. They lost hope in Vic, as did Vic in himself. Maybe that was why he was so believing that he would be nothing and die that way. Because no one believed he'd be anything. 

"But, I'd rather talk to you. It's usually something going on with the student they haven't told anyone about."

Fucking prick bitch ass saying shit that doesn't make sense asshat he doesn't know anything he's totally wrong how could that be true.

"You had a bandage on your arm, you wanna.. tell me about that?" 

Jesus.

On a fucking.

Stick.

"Me and my friends, were, uh, playing with scissors, 'cause we're, ya know, idiots, and I cut my arm by accident. Stitches and shit- I mean stuff, whatever. It's nothing." 

Vic would thank the lord for his ability to lie, if Toro didn't care and he hadn't been a shaking mess with awkward pauses and "uh" at the beginning.

It was quite clearly a lie and when lying of something like that, quite clearly something along the lines of what it was.

Vic panicked. 

"Mr. Toro, I promise I'll catch up but I- I gotta go, my, um, my mom has people coming over tonight. I'll do history and shit- Could you email me what I'm missing?"

You absolute fucking moron.

"Vic-"

"Thanks, bye!"

Vic ran out, ignoring Kellin and Justin and Toro. He threw on his playlist and tried to forget. That conversation was too much; last night was too much; that day was too much; breathing was becoming too much and Vic found himself falling on his knees at the playground with Found/Tonight playing. The piano, Ben and Lin's voices assuring him he'd be okay, the stinging in his arm.

Fuck, he couldn't take it.

His eyes watered and his throat began to hurt. He crawled into one of the tubes and pulled out his phone, ripping out the case and catching the blade. His sharpest, his best.

A slow drag on his not-bandaged arm.

He didn't want to stop. He counted. One two three four.

Twenty three. He made twenty three and the number seemed so significant he wrote it down on his notebook so he wouldn't forget. 

And nothing was right. Vic was the furthest from okay, but he kept telling himself he was fine.

I'm happy. This is what happy feels like.


	7. Teardrops

I'm running outta teardrops, let it hurt till it stops  
I can't keep my grip, I'm slipping away from me  
Oh, God, everything is so fucked, but I can't feel a thing  
The emptiness is heavier than you think  
I'm tripping on the edge  
High as a kite, I'm never coming down  
And if you hear me, guess you know how it feels  
To be alone

~ ~

Humans are flawed. They're selfish and liars and jealous and terrible. It's been a given since the beginning of man kind. Nonetheless everyone held some hope that they were better than them, them being the worst of people, but just because you're not a rapist doesn't mean you've hurt more people than you can count. Maybe without even knowing you've done so.

Vic had learned over the course of three years that people were not to be trusted, and which of the little people he spoke to stood atop the list. People lied, people made rumors of you behind your back to your friends, people say what they know will hurt you most. People are not good, and no matter what they do they will never be good. Some people made peace with that with their optimism, but in that they'd reached a whole new level of dishonesty; lying to themself.

Vic would rather face the hard facts than think some make believe ideaoligies. Unfortunate or not, the world didn't care. The truth hurts, so does the world. Life isn't fair, he wouldn't try to make it otherwise.

There was no one to trust anymore. They'd either be angered with him, or tell everything he said to his mother. It was an occurence he experienced more than once, and after so many times he realized it was better to write it away a notebook or slash at his skin. People didn't help him, and at that point nothing would. 

There was a new challenge that night. One he knew he'd regret and stop from completing at some point, but in that moment it was such a wonderful idea he picked up the blade and went on.

It wasn't one, or two, or ten. It wasn't a word or two sloppily carved. They were deep and often and harder and quicker.

He wanted to bleed himself dry. See if he could cut so much he bled till there was no blood left. He'd die before he did, but it was a challenge he wanted to win. Not for death, but for the momentary euphoria.

He bled until he stopped. He pressed a cold rag against his arms because he'd bled enough and he had to throw out the towel and live to tomorrow.

Oh fuck, his arms would hurt tomorrow.

~_~_~_~

It scratched against his skin. Usually Vic adored the sting of when his clothes scratched his arms but that day it was so much and so deep he was holding back whimpers.

"Dude, did someone fuck you last night?" A kid whose name Vic hadn't bothered to know asked. He looked at him bewildered. 

"You're grimacing at the smallest moves. Are you into BDSM?"

"Jesus fuck," Vic muttered.

"Hey, I'm no one to judge. If you like being whipped than ya like being whipped."

"No, I do not like being-" Vic shuddered and went back to his work.

"Ah come on man, I'm just playin. I'm Oli." The boy extended his hand that Vic took with a wary look.

"I get it, you're introverted or whatever, but that don't mean you can't have friends."

I'm not introverted, I'm sad.

Really, Vic liked having friends and talking to others, but he didn't have the energy or trust for that. They'd find out what he does to himself and either tell someone (that someone being his parents or the entire school) or leave him because he was a "disgusting piece of trash."

"Mhm."

"Come hang with me at lunch, huh? I got some friends you can talk with."

First Kellin, Toro, now him. Vic wanted to tell all of them to bite someone elses ass, someone who'd want friends and a kind teacher that asked what was wrong. Vic was too scared to have that. 

But instead he bit his lip and nodded. One lunch wouldn't mean a thing.

~ ~

His friends were a pile of junkies, and it was clear Vic was plot to sell drugs and get money. They hadn't actually gave a shit, which was typical in Vic's case.

"You sure you don't want some?" One of them asked. Tall, rough looking face. He looked scary as fuck, usually with a glare, but he was fine so far.

Vic nodded. "I don't have money. So even if I did want to, wouldn't matter."

"Who said we were asking for money? It's on me, man." 

"O-Oh, I thought you were just for my money," Vic muttered.

The group laughed. "How lonely can you get?" Oliver patted his back. "Smoke a joint, at least, get your mind off shit."

Vic took the cigarette from Oliver's fingers, breathing it in. It wouldn't be so bad if he took up his friends offers. They were untrustworthy, of course, but the offer to clear his mind just seemed so enticing. 

"You got any weed?"

It was the last thing Vic thought he'd ever ask and the most stupid thing he'd ever ask. 

The group nodded. "You know how to smoke it?" Oliver asked. When Vic shook his head, Oliver knelt down and directed him on how to correctly smoke it.

The group continued to talk, Vic zoned out. The drug started to kick in and he felt lighter.

Holy shit, he felt lighter.

Nothing had made him feel so okay. His mind was a haze and all he really did was think, but the thoughts weren't so overwhelming, even if they went back to a heavy topic he felt so light. 

Meanwhile, Oliver and his friends were laughing. "You've never smoked weed before?" 

Vic shook his head, blinking rapidly to see clearer.

"What the hell are you five doing?" 

The widely despised and also loved gym teacher came around the corner. The group of junkies scrambled to their feet while Oliver tried to help Vic to his feet and away from the teacher who would chase after them, but Vic was giggling and tripping over his feet. 

So instead of getting away, the two boys were grabbed by the teacher and dragged into the school. Vic didn't care, and barely realized what was happening. 

"Fuckin junkies," the teacher grumbled.

"Shut the fuck up you dink," Oliver spat.

Vic started cackling. "Dink."

"Tell that to Mr. Bostwick."

They were thrust in the office, no one else in there yet but them. 

"Come on, sit down shorty."

Vic took a seat beside Oliver, staring down at his hands and watching them as if they were all-knowing beings.

"Can you at least pretend you're not high for the first time?" Oliver groaned.

"Shshshutshut." Vic held a finger to Oliver's lips. "I'm independent."

In walked the principal, taking a seat in front of the two teenagers with a grim, jaded stare.

"This is the third time, Oli."

"What, you want me to promise it won't happen again?" Oliver hissed back.

"So you brought another innocent kid into this?" The principle asked, far from surprised.

"I asked if he wanted to hang out, the kid skips all his afternoon classes. He agreed."

The principal sighed and ran a hand through his seemingly greasy hair. He was stressed, not just because of Oliver though. 

"Detentions won't stop this, community service won't, so I'm calling your parents and reccomending rehab."

"What? I'm not an addict!" Oliver shouted.

"Your parents took your stash away and you missed school for a week because of withdrawals. You went back to it once you could."

"Bostwick please-"

"This is my descision, not yours." 

He called Oliver's parents, explained the seemingly normal situation, and sent Oliver home. Vic was left, still high, staring at the principal hiding a smile.

"You're Victor, right?"

Vic nodded. Bostwick pulled out a file, grimacing for a moment, before looking at Vic.

"Alright, I'll let you off with a slap on the rist. Detention after school for a week, which means you're attending all your classes. It's only September, try and catch up in a few, would you? If you need help, Toro is a great teacher, he'd be happy to lend a hand."

Vic had to bite his lip to stop his drugged state from spewing sarcastic remarks. 

Before the principal could continue, or Vic's snarkiness could get the better of him, the door opened.

"Da- oh, hey Vic!" Kellin stood in the doorway. "Are you high?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Kell Bell."

The principals face lit up. "You two know each other?"

Kellin nodded. "We're friends-"

"Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?"

Vic rolled his eyes. "Kellin's just a social brat. You're not my friend Kelly you're playing Sherlock trying to find a mystery that doesn't exist. Your son, I presume," Vic turned to the principal. "And I are not friends." 

He scrambled to his feet, giggling and pushing past Kellin. "Thank you for your time, Your Majesty." Vic bowed and waltzed out. He didn't get halfway into the hallway before his wrist was grabbed and he was pulled into a closet.

"Kinky," Vic commented.

"You're high," Kellin spoke.

"Wonderful observation skills, 10/10."

"Why the hell are you high? Were you with that Sykes kid?" He spat.

"His name is Oli, dumbass. And if I was?" Vic crossed his arms, staring at Kellin unimpressed.

"You idiot. Is that why you're an ass? Because you're a junkie too?"

"Are you a judgemental brat because your parents spoiled you with a big house and a fucking movie theatre as your living room?"

"I'm not judgemental!"

"You called me a junkie, and thus an ass because I'm accused of being a junkie. You've said nothing good about Oliver, who was only caught because he tried to help me get away too."

Kellin chewed on his bottom lip, trying to find a good arguements but there was none. "That doesn't excuse you getting high!"

"I can do what I please, Kelly. Stop trying to understand things you never will."

Vic moved from the closet and back to his class. One problem to another, and his newest was how the hell he'd handle going to all his classes for a week plus detention. His arms were already itching for spilled blood; it was routine he left school past this time and started another round of cutting. Now he'd have to wait, or cut it short with using the bathroom. And his left arm was still healing, so he could only get a few cuts in on his right. The week was going horrendously. 

He sat down at his next class, surprise written on his teachers face quickly replaced with a smile. Don't be pleased for too long. 

"We're starting a new unit today, the Sumerians. Pull out your notes-"

Vic held back a groan and let his head bonk against the desk. There was no way he was surviving this.


	8. The End

If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see  
You can find out firsthand what it's like to be me  
So gather 'round piggies and kiss this goodbye  
I'd encourage your smiles I'll expect you won't cry

Another contusion, my funeral jag  
Here's my resignation, I'll serve it in drag  
You've got front row seats to the penitence ball  
When I grow up I want to be nothing at all

~ ~

There is a beginning and end to everything. Every story every life, everything. Both have its set of rules to make up the plot and thus finish it. And then there's the in between. There is the sick part of the story involving the build up, climax, downfall, and perpetual end.

Vic didn't know where his life sat, but it seemed to drag on. This slow story, with fifty chapters containing the same thing. Nothing new or interesting. Another fifty chapters will pass and the only new information is Vic is even worse, probably insane, and his arms are the battle field scene in Mulan.

Maybe that's a dark comparison, but it was becoming acurate.

And he wondered why his life would be worthy of a story. Look at Michelle Obamas memoir; how inspiring it was. If Vic wrote his own memoir, it'd be pitiful and long and useless. 

Vic barely deserved a life, even. He wasn't a good person. He was a bitch to everyone, said impulsive things, did impulsive things and yet he played victim with the blade.

And in that moment Vic pressed the blade down in a vertical line, for the third time, and drew it over. Lightly, not even breaking skin. But he could, easily he could. Playing with death was more exciting than it should be.

He wondered if this was the climax and end, this was how his story would finish. Someone would write a biography about him, all of it wrong because it wasn't in Vic's own mind. Someone can have all the facts off Google, but a persons life is best written from their perspective. Even if you don't understand yourself, you can explain that feeling better than someone else. No one could explain the euphoria Vic felt when he cut as well as he could, and although others also felt that way, Vic felt it in his own. They felt it in their own. 

If someone else wrote it, it'd be entirely different.

~_~_~_~

Last words were so significant to people. The last words a parent or friend said to you before they left for a trip, or died, maybe. The last words of a prison mate on their execution date. It didn't make sense, because they held little significance. But because, to others, they did, Vic wanted his last words to so significantly insignificant.

Something that wouldn't make sense. Maybe a quote from a book or something in another language. He only knew the basics of German, by then he stopped paying attention and the teacher stopped caring, and now it's one of his skipped classes.

But maybe that's better. His final words to someone, or to the world, be wie heißt du? 

People spend their entire lives trying to make sense of something with no importance. The newest age old mystery. Vic wanted his final words to be that, and they'd never realize they held literally no meaning. They were words to confuse people.

This was far more interesting, planning his final words, than listening to the teacher in his fifth hour class drone on. It was only Wednesday, but the week felt tediously long. As if it'd been years and he was still, only half way. The other half would take just as long, if not longer.

Vic wondered what Friday would be like. Sitting through detention, waiting for the day to end. He might just die imagining it. But that was so far away, there was another twenty hours left.

Toro had begun to leave Vic alone, getting the message. Aside from attempting small talk, which never went far.

The bell screeched, feet ran, another class begun. Three more hours, three mours hours.

~_~_~_~

Kellin was outside, waiting for Vic after detention.

"How was it?" Kellin smirked, putting out his cigarette and beginning to walk with Vic.

"Fuck off," muttered Vic. "I don't need three people on my ass about being a good student."

"Aw come on! Isn't it the least bit rewarding?"

"No, it's not," Vic spat. "Leave me alone." He waved at Kellin, trying to shoo him away but he persisted.

"You won't get your GED if you don't take these classes," Kellin said matter-of-factly.

"Who the hell said I was sticking around to the end of school?" Vic lit a cigarette. He'd told himself he'd only smoke two a day when he first started, but that was when he had some shred of self preservation. It felt so good to breathe it in.

"You're not gonna like, y-you know, right?" Kellin stared at him fearfully. When Vic didn't get the message, Kellin drew a finger over his neck.

Well you don't have to avoid it like the fucking plague.

Vic never thought of it that much, and of course that wasn't what he had meant, but it crossed his mind.

It did seem better than this.

"No, I meant dropping out, dumbass." 

"Good."

They didn't speak much more, Vic replayed Kellin's reply. Good. Kellin was glad he wouldn't try and kill himself? It shouldn't come as such a surprise, but it did. Then again it could easily be Kellin not wanting to feel guilt-ridden. Vic himself was a low priority, aside from making his life a living hell.

Vic had forgotten the feeling of being loved. Despite his mother unconditionally doing so, he turned a blind eye to it. And this wasn't love, Kellin had no romantic feelings or platonic love for Vic, but so much as being tolerated, preferred alive and present was baffling to him.

"Are you even walking to your house?" Kellin broke the much-enjoyed silence.

"Are you?" Vic snapped back.

"I've been walking with you, so, no."

"Why? So you can find my house?" Kellin shrugged, nodding. Fuck.

"Well no," Vic finally answered. "I'm not."

"Then where are you going?"

"The park."

Vic would, originally, go there to cut up his skin a bit more, but Kellin was there and it made him all the more displeased and antsy.

"Why don't you go home?" Vic offered, taking a seat on a swing. Kellin sat next to him and snatched the cigarette, taking a breath from it and smiling at Vic's glare.

"Because you're more fun."

Vic scoffed. "I'm quite the opposite." He was bland, sarcastic, sad, self-loathing, and the more he thought about it the more his arms itched and screamed.

Quite the opposite of fun.

"You're inte-"

"If you say I'm interesting and mysterious," Vic leaned forward, snatched the cigarette back and continued. "I'll burn you with this, I swear to god."

"Well I don't know enough about you to say more!" Kellin pouted. "Tell me one thing? One thing about yourself."

Vic didn't look at Kellin as he finished the cigarette and stomped it out, thinking of something to reply with before looking Kellin in the eye.

"Furchtbar. Ich bin furchtbar and it's been that way for years. That's your big clue, Kell Bell, figure it out."


	9. Blessed With A Curse

Everything I touch, turns to stone (turns to stone)  
So wrap your arms around me, and leave me  
I can't hold on

~ ~

He willed his mind to sleep but it just kept screaming. He was too tired to cut, too exhausted to think or let the sadness sink in.

"Vic? Your friend came over. Kellin, he's downstairs right now," his mother spoke softly.

"Tell him to leave."

"You've been in your room all day, I think your friend paying a visit is good for you," she declared. "Kellin sweety, come on up! Vic is in his room."

Vic didn't move from under his covers, breathing out shakily and trying to muster up his sarcastic smile and attitude. 

He just wanted to stop feeling.

"Shut the door," he mumbled to Kellin, who he heard do exactly that. The bed dipped as Kellin sat behind him.

"I googled what you said."

Vic laughed.

"You're.. awful? Fuck, I don't know, it was hard to write out the German. Was it German? That's what it said. I never knew you're bilingual."

"I'm not." Vic sat up, staring at Kellin lazily. "I studied German for half a year in middle school before skipping the class. All I remember is what's your name, counting to nine, and what I told you." 

"And, what did you tell me?" Kellin inquired.

"I told you Kell Bell, that's for you to find out."

He groaned. "You're impossible!"

Vic smiled sickly sweet. "That's the price you pay for talking to me."

"Ik bin furchtbar?"

"Ich."

"Ich," Kellin repeated, earning a nod from Vic.

"Ich bin furchtbar?" Another nod. "Ich bin furchtbar. Ich, I?" Vic shrugged, letting Kellin figure it out for himself who wasn't keen on the idea.

"I don't know German!" Kellin whined. "Tell mee, please."

"It's a basic sentence, Kelly." Kellin didn't stop his pleading eyes. Vic sighed. "I am awful. That's what it is. Happy?"

He pulled away from Kellin and lifted the covers over his shoulders while Kellin thought.

"What's awful? Your life seems pretty fine to me." Kellin looked around the room. His mother was kind, he had a nice house and seemingly enough food. A nicely decorated room. Vic himself just seemed sarcastic and mildly angry, what was awful? Him? As a person?

"I don't think you're an awful person," Kellin mumbled with a small pout.

Vic chuckled. "It's not that." He paused. "Kinda."

"Kinda?" Kellin unconciously leaned forward, interested in every word Vic had to say.

"I'm- I am.. not a good person, you've seen well enough what a dick I am." Vic searched for words to say. "But it's.. that's not what I meant. I don't think you'll get it, never thought you would." 

Kellin wouldn't, because Kellin was happy. Kellin never held a knife to his arm for the first time when he was eleven, he never made himself believe they all hated him with good reason. Kellin smiled and laughed and had friends and it was all good. That was fucking great, it was amazing Kellin never had to go through that. But he didn't understand Vic, or what ran through his head, and he couldn't pretend to. 

"You're innocent, Kelly. You'll never realize how quickly things can leave, including yourself."

"My.. self?"

"Yeah. Pieces of you can start to leave till you're... a shell, and you kind of just, fade away."

"You've been reading too much Tumblr, or R/i'm14andthisisdeep."

Vic looked at Kellin, his mouth agape. "I'm offended! I don't read Tumblr, or Reddit, FYI."

"Okay, quirky white girl. Get the fuck up, we're going out."

"Fucking hell. Where?" Vic whined, albeit talking Kellin's hands to stand up.

"Well, what are your interests Cockroach?"

"Again with the Cockroach thing?"

"If you get to call me Kell Bell, I get to call you Cockroach. Now answer my question," Kellin demanded.

"I don't get out much, or do much. Food, I guess?"

"Have you ever been to a fair?"

"Fair?"

"You know, like a state fair."

"N-No?"

Kellin gasped. "What an atrocity!" He grabbed Vic's hand and pulled him downstairs. "I'm taking your son to a fair!" He screamed to Mrs. Fuentes. "Have a wonderful day!"

He had to even his breathing, hide the hitch in his breath and hesitance in every step. He wanted to collapse right there and tell Kellin his leg gave out and, "unfortunately", their activites would have to wait.

But he had his blade, the sharp metal in his pocket reminded him everything would be okay. Finish this shit show, go home, and go back to the emtpy calm where nothing is okay but you can pass out from blood loss.

"The ride might be long, so while we wait, Cockroach, we're playing twenty questions," Kellin declared with a bright smile as he started the car.

"Absolutely not."

"Too bad. Me first! What's your favorite color?" 

Vic snorted. "Generic much?"" 

"Just answer!" Kellin whined.

"Red, I guess. Uh, what's your favorite.. movie?"

Fuck life and how hard it is to make small talk.

"The Green Mile. Why were under the covers with your lights off?"

"Because I can. Why are you so nosy?"

"Because I can," Kellin mocked. "Where's your dad?"

"Work," Vic replied instantly like a poorly rehearsed answer, and it was.

"It's.. a Saturday afternoon."

"His shifts are a bit different."

This was too personal, Kellin didn't get to have that information and Vic was growing angry with him asking.

"Where's your dad?" Vic snapped back.

"Never met him," Kellin shrugged, surprising Vic.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he left when I was young. It's fine, my mom is pretty great. So, have you ever dated anyone?"

"Nope."

Kellin slammed the breaks, causing Vic to nearly slam his head against the dashboard.

"What the hell!"

"You've never dated someone?!"

"Start the fucking car," Vic spat. "No, Kellin, having a significant other isn't as significant as the media makes it. People just.. don't want to date."

Kellin shook his head and started driving again. "No first kiss? Crush?"

"A.. guy, a friend of mine," Vic muttered. "Sixth grade. He moved, doesn't matter."

"Man, no wonder you're lonely," Kellin remarked. "No first kiss, first date, I'll find you someone."

Vic rolled his eyes. "Sure you will." In truth, Vic hadn't felt romantic attraction to anyone sense that crush on his best friend. Didn't matter if he had, because there was no way he was letting himself like someone like that again. 

The fair was in sight. Kids, adults, couples, walked around, rode rides, ate food. A casual Saturday spent socializing, a completely unfurnished thing to Vic.

"Wild Thing first!"

"Wild Thing? Like that old song-"

"No- What? Jesus fuck, you sit in your room alone and listen to eighties music. Okay, come on." Kellin grabbed his wrist, not noticing the blood beginning to taint Vic's shirt.

They signed in with Vic's head hung. He didn't make eye contact with anyone or speak, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling in his lungs, the fear in his head but the more he thought about it the more he felt as if something was after him.

You're with Kellin. You're in public. You're fine.

His wrist became the next victim as Kellin pulled him around. He scratched it aggressively, even daring to go over old cuts, and yes, it hurt like a bitch. 

Vic hadn't even realized they had finished their wait in line for The Wild Thing until they were boarding it. He'd gone on autopilot and now Kellin was smiling like an idiot.

"You ready?"

Vic looked forward. A green track led up at least thirty feet, but Vic was terrible at estimates so truly it could be fifty or twenty. Point was, it was tall. Like ten Peppa Pigs tall.

It would be intimidating if Vic wasn't entirely focused on Kellin's large smile. His wavy hair and glistening eyes. How full they were of.. life.

In a way, Vic was jealous. Kellin was beautiful, like that, with so much happiness in him, no idea how fucked the world is and people are and Vic is. For a moment he wanted that, to switch places with Kellin, but Kellin hadn't done anything. Kellin was innocent and didn't deserve the pain Vic went through. He was so beautiful when he smiled so genuinely, that should never be taken away.

Vic didn't realize he deserved that, too.

The coaster went upwards and then downwards. Quick, jabbing turns mixed with Kellin's screams of joy. And.. Vic's laughter. 

Vic was laughing.

Kellin had his arms up with a big grin, and the cart would turn and he'd scream and put his arms down in fear only to lift them up again. It had Vic smiling.

It almost didn't feel right, but the more his stomach turned with a weird bubly feeling, the more he liked it. 

This was happiness. Not the blade. Happiness was something special, and that wasn't making yourself bleed just to feel something better than pain. But just an ounce of happiness, with a person you barely know, won't save you. 

It was good while it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on a trip and i miss cuddling with my dog ):<


	10. Chelsea Smile

I've got a secret  
It's on the tip of my tongue, it's on the back of my lungs  
And I'm gonna keep it  
I know something you don't know

It sits in silence, eats away at me  
It feeds like cancer, this guilt could fill a fucking sea  
Pulling teeth, wolves at my door  
Now falling and failing is all I know

~ ~

He was uncomftorable, severely so, and it'd only get worse, but he was walking on a tight rope with his current setting.

Kellin had pulled Vic out of his room and to his house Monday afternoon. They made popcorn and poptarts, grabbed some kids wine and started a movie night that was sifting in to a casual thing between him and Kellin. But before he'd been unwillingly brought there Vic, unsurprisingly, cut, and he hadn't had the chance to stop the bleeding.

So god knew if his arms were still letting out the red liquid but he couldn't check in front of Kellin. It could bleed through, and it'd surely be visible on his lighter blue sweatshirt. 

Vic hadn't noticed the glances Kellin gave him every few minutes, how they looked down, he stared ahead praying to any god or higher being to prevent it. 

"Have you watched this movie before?" Vic turned to Kellin.

"Of course I have," he giggled. "Have you?"

Vic shook his head.

"Have you been living under a fucking rock?" Kellin screeched, puffed his lips, and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, makes sense. Okay, this is a crime, you can't watch the movie first." 

He paused the movie, only twenty minutes, and ran upstairs without explanation.

Taking it as oppurtunity, Vic hid in the bathroom and looked at his sleeve.

Okay, so it bled through. Not too much, but it was there and evident enough to raise questions. Lifting the sleeve, the cuts were still oozing small drops of blood, and the rest was doused in the rest liquid.

Without much time he watered some of the toilet paper and began wiping it off his arm. He'd need something to hide the blood on his shirt, unless he kept his arms crossed the whole time and remained uncomftorable.

There wasn't a good way out of this, other than hoping Kellin didn't notice and if he did he believed the lie that Vic spilled ketchup earlier, even though that ketchup stain hadn't been there before Kellin got him, and he could easily change.

So his lies weren't the greatest but people were stupid sometimes, or they didn't care, Kellin was hopefully one, or both, of those.

"Victoor! Get out here!"

Sticking his hands in his pockets to hide the inside of his sleeve best he could, Vic walked out.

"Okay, so I have the book which is, obviosuly, far better." Kellin handed the small green book to Vic. It was a little tattered, but well taken care of for however long Kellin must've had it. "It's more of a ten year olds book, I know, but I grew up with this series and it's expected you know it if you be my friend."

"Again, this whole friendship has been against my will. If I don't read it?"

"I'll tell your mom, who's very excited you've made a new friend, you're coming over and I'll read it to you."

Vic rolled his eyes. "I called you a cockroach and now you go out of your way to make a friendship and figure out why I'm such an ass. You make no sense, Quinn."

"The cockroach was just an excuse. I've had my eye on you for awhile." Kellin said it before he could think about it and when he did the two were equally blushing.

"You're stalking me, huh? I'm flattered," Vic teased.

"That's not what I meant!" Kellin whined. "Skip class, no finished assignments, no friends. You're the embodiement of a Wattpad's Paid Story badboy."

Vic gasped. "I am severely offended. Kell Bell, I just don't think this friendship can go on after that."

"Shut up, you idiot. I think you're cool, anyways. I like hanging out with you."

"You just know how to make me blush, don't you?" Vic puckered his lips, leaning forward teasingly.

"You never stop!" Kellin giggled. His laugh rung like Heaven's bells to Vic, who only wanted to hear it again. 

"It's not my fault, Quincy, you're my stalker, might as well make it work." Vic slung his arm over Kellin's shoulder, but he pulled away.

"What's on your sleeve?"

Oh, you fucking moron.

"Ketchup," Vic shrugged and hid his sleeve again.

"Can I see your arm?" 

No, Kell Bell, you can't.

Vic pulled his hands from his pockets and held out his sleeved arms. "Nothing surprising, I hope. I mean, you're not seeing tentacles, are you?"

"No, your arms, Vic. Without the sleeves."

Vic laughed. Strained and forced; fearful. "Why? They're bland, Kelly."

"You're always wearing long sleeves, there's a stain you say is ketchup but that doesn't make sense and- Viccy." His eyes began to water and Vic's playful gaze fell. He didn't want to make Kellin cry, I mean, there wasn't anything to cry about.

"Hey, it's okay." Vic moved to wrap his arms around Kellin but he again pulled away.

"Show me your arms, then. If it's okay show me."

"They're fine, I'm telling you!"

"Then you should have no problem showing me." Kellin crossed his arms with a hmph.

Defeated, Vic gazed at him. "You don't wanna look, you don't wanna see."

"I do. I wanna see I- I wanna help."

"There's nothing to help," Vic cried, turning away to hide the tears. He didn't cry in front of others, he wouldn't allow himself to do that.

"If you- If you're hurting yourself then yes there is. Let me see, Vic, I wanna see how bad it is," Kellin pleaded.

"It's bad. It's not but- but it is? You-"

It was bad, something someone would gasp at. But to Vic, it was normal. Sure, there were lots of red lines, the majority recent unless they were scars, in which case there were a lot of scars. Permanent.

"Let me see."

Vic held out his arms, letting Kellin pull up the sleeves and start crying at the sight.

"They're- they're vertical."

There were vertical lines, obviously, and Kellin saw them. The thick line, only a week old, surronded by scars and scabbed over cuts. It might've needed stitches, but Vic really didn't know, and if it did it didn't matter anymore. It was a week old and it'd scab over in another week and start to fade after another week.

But it wasn't the only vertical one. There were others, older ones. Some were before Vic even knew vertical could mean fatal. 

It was everywhere. So bad, so terrible.

But it didn't matter. Even if there was one, or two or ten, Kellin would still care. He'd still cry because Vic didn't deserve to feel that way. One cut was too many. 

"How long?"

"Seven.. Seven years, I think," he whispered. 

"You were eleven!" Kellin almost screamed.

Vic only shrugged. "Lots of eleven year olds start, unfortunately. I'm just part of a grid, the average."

"Does that make it any better? Who gives a fuck the average! You could've started a week ago and I still would've- You can't keep doing this."

"I've done it for years." Vic was still alive and well, to a point. 

"And there's vertical lines. How recent is that? A couple days?"

"A week, give or take." Vic was so nonchalant, he couldn't care much anymore. The cuts weren't an unusual thing. They hadn't killed him so he didn't find them bad.

"You need to talk to someone."

Vic chuckled. "There's no one to talk to."

"Me?" Kellin pleaded. "Wh-whenever, please, if you need me, call me."

"Now you're really making this a Wattpad story."

"Please."

Vic sighed and nodded. "Okay."

Kellin sighed and smiled, pulling Vic into a hug.

"I'm really proud of you. For showing me. Does anyone else know?"

"People did, before, but they don't matter now."

"I'm still so proud of you. You should tell someone else though. A professional, your mom maybe-"

"Can we just, keep it between us, please?"

Kellin nodded. "That's okay too. Whenever you're ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need to pee but we're visiting  
> id put in my earbuds to ignore my parents awkward conversation but my ear hurts


	11. 1x1

Disconnected from the world again  
No, the sun don't shine in the place I've been  
So why you keep acting like I don't exist?  
Yeah, feel like I'm ready to die, but I can't commit

So I ask myself, when will I learn?  
I'd set myself on fire to feel the burn  
I'm scared that I'm never going to be repaired

Put me out of my misery  
My mind  
Feels like an archenemy  
Can't look me in the eyes  
I don't know what hurts the most  
Holding on or letting go  
Reliving my memories  
And they're killing me one by one

~ ~

Getting better seemed like entire bullshit. Vic knew he never would reach that. He'd tried, believe him, but it never worked and it doesn't take much for a tired fucked up kid to give up.

He could throw away the blades as much as he wanted but they'd always be back in a fresh pair with fresh new cuts. He'd always be gripping the edge of his bed in whatever state it may be. Half the time he was too tired to be in any kind of state but he didn't want to sleep so he sat there exhausted and sad.

Getting better didn't fucking exist anymore. When he was younger he was so infatuated with "hope." The word, the definition, how he would "always have hope."

He didn't have fucking hope. He had a blade in his hand and blood on his arm and that was how it was.

Vic was stubborn and it was a terrible mix. Stubborn and angry and when he looked at the walls of his bedroom he thought about how temporary that place was. How temporary he was.

Because, in fact, he could die that night. Or in ten years or ten days, it was so unreliable and it could be in any possible way but, he could do it himself.

Maybe he would.

Not that he wanted to, or ever had before. But he could.

"Okay" was less of an occuring thing and there was always a part of him not okay. But the other half would be so he'd question if that was even real or if he just wanted to be sad and was making himself that way.

Nevertheless he smelled like shit and his hair was greasy and his clothes were the same as two weeks ago. He rarely changed anymore. It was increasingly hard to find comfotrable clothes and he forgot to shower. By the time he would he'd spend twenty minutes in there sitting in the water. It was his own little world, sanctuary, where nothing had to be and all of it didn't have to fucking exist. The scars, the blades, getting out of bed being such a struggle and the new idea that he could kill himself.

It was an idea at that time, just an idea. Not that he'd go through with it, not that he entirely wanted to but it was there just in case he needed it. Just like the blade. The only things that seemed to help him were self destructive, because self destruction was all he knew.

Vic didn't care for any of the other things. Didn't even care to try them; they seemed tedious and they'd never break the habit. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, right? Maybe when he'd only been doing it for a year or two he could've stopped, maybe not. Maybe he was destined to die with fresh self made cuts the moment he made the first one.

Or maybe he could stop right then with enough support and will, he just didn't see it. In his mind he was too far gone and that instilled no fear into him.

~_~_~_~

Things were beyond awkward. It was hard to talk to Kellin when the concern in his gazes was evident. He had the right to be, anyway. Vic's whimpers and whines could only mean so much. And no, he didn't get fucked in the ass.

Instead, he realized the mistake in not stitching his arm. Or somehow attending to the vertical cut further.

It hurt. Really fucking bad. Google, the most reliable source for all the answers to your pyshical inconviences, explained he had washed it, so it would heal, but risk of infection was there (it always was, anyways; he rarely washed the cuts). And the pain would be there as it healed.

So it was decided washing it was of most importance. Getting an infection and having his mother take him to the hospital only to reveal the healing red gash in his arm, along with the many others, was far from ideal. 

"Hey Vic, how are you?" Kellin chirped in the hallway.

Vic muttered an inaudible reply, trying to get away from Kellin but he persisted.

"Are your.. um.. your ar- you know, okay?"

"Jesus, don't treat the question like a hammer that'll smash me. Yes, Kellin, they're fine. Did your mother ever teach you how to mind your damn business?" Vic snapped.

Kellin bit his lip and jogged to catch up with Vic. He didn't know how to act casual, how to not ask questions about why Vic did it and how recent it'd been. If anything, he wanted to throw whatever Vic used to harm himself and hug him and never let go. 

"I'm sorry. Alright? My house tonight? We can.. watch a movie, and shit."

Vic breathed in, hoping to find the energy to say yes but it only made matters worse.

"Sure."


	12. Drown

What doesn't kill you  
Makes you wish you were dead  
Got a hole in my soul growing deeper and deeper  
And I can't take  
One more moment of this silence  
The loneliness is haunting me  
And the weight of the world's getting harder to hold up

It comes in waves, I close my eyes  
Hold my breath and let it bury me  
I'm not okay and it's not alright  
Won't you drag the lake and bring me home again

~ ~

His phone was nearly dead and he thought, if he continued, he would be too. That was becoming less and less of a bad thing. As terrifying as it was and how much this small part of Vic wanted to live to some capable being, there was no way for a future like that. He'd die a sad fuck up with red arms and no explanation. Maybe Kellin would mourn but Vic frankly didn't care.

His brain seemed fuzzy and it was cold. Maybe that was due to the winter weather outside, maybe it was how tired he was and the blood coming out of his arm as per usual. It was such a casual thing to Vic, not a nightly ritual by any means, that glorified it far too much and this was not beautiful. Vic knew that. This was a mess just like him. This was a routine and who said routines were always good? No, in fact they could be very bad. But they're something you're so used to, sometimes you forget it's something you shouldn't be doing. Sometimes people never tell you to stop. People never know, people never care and that's how Vic preferred it.

He supposed Kellin would frown at this, maybe cry if he was emotional. For a moment that made Vic pause, reconsider, before he shrugged it off. Kellin wasn't his friend by any means, but that didn't mean Victor didn't care. Vic was sick, tired, not a monster. He didn't want Kellin to cry but that didn't mean he'd stop for the boy, it'd mean he'd hide it better. 

At some point you stop caring. You're told, sometimes, being selfish is good. It, in fact, is. Sometimes, a lot of the time, you need to focus on yourself. It's not always about others just as much as it isn't always about you. 

In Vic's case, his way of doing so was this. Despite how his mother would definitely not want this, he woud do it. Despite how Kellin would sob in hysterics at Victor's death, he might just kill himself anyways. It wasn't that Vic didn't care for them, he didn't care about living. It was so overrated; so much harder than people made it out to be. Some people get by just fine, better even, others have to take it by night. To them it's tedious and giving up was just so much more easier, but life was never meant to fit your pretty picture. If life was easy, you'd be bored. It'd be so repetitive and, in fact, worse.

Feeling like shit is absolute shit and in no way a good thing but there's a good chance it'll happen. Some cases in bigger severity, some cases for longer. It's like a latter.

No one really wants to climb it. But we have to. Some people have it easy, short five minute climb to the top and it's all okay. Some people climb for years and there's ice and rocks and it's absolute hell. In which cases, those few might just let go.

And they never made it to the top. The top may not be so glorious and there's no more hard work to go, but it's the top. It's far more easier and worth it. 

Everyone's latter is different and the outcome will not be the same. Everyone takes it differently. 

Vic knew all this, to an extent. All the while he found it utter bullshit and didn't give a fuck. Younger him, eleven or twelve, would think that way. Younger him would want to, someday, stop cutting and feeling that way.

But now he was older Vic, and it wasn't the same.

The blood ran cold with the crime of another cut, and Vic began to think about how his latter never fucking ends. Seven years of climbing, where's his mountain range? He deserved it by now. It didn't get better without help, sure, but why couldn't he just have a break? It was all ice and rock and dirt. He wasn't even climbing anymore; he was waiting for something to push him off it. But nothing would so he was stuck there and it would never end.

Young Vic wanted a life. He wanted to see the fucking world, to become a photographer and wear short sleeves again. In a way, Vic was sorry. To his younger self, that he couldn't fulfill those dreams. But at the same time, it was all young Vic's fault for even being curious about picking up the kitchen knife. 

But did that matter? That one moment that could be considered the butterfly effect to it all? Even if it never happened, would Vic somehow, at a slightly older age, do the same thing? Or would things be entirely different?

There was no need dwelling on the past and other outcomes when the current outcome was there and there was no changing it. It didn't matter anyways, Vic's head was getting fuzzier and thinking was making things worse.

Lighter- Lighter. The world, his head.

And he went dark.

~_~_~_~

"Vic!" It was Kellin to wake him up with a teared face. There was a rag in his hands that was being pressed against Vic's cuts lightly but quickly.

"Huh?" Vic groaned. "Did- Did my mom see?" Vic straightened, his world spinning before he gained control and focused on Kellin.

"No, she's out right now. I wish she would've seen."

Vic laughed. "Why?"

"Because you need help and she can get it." Kellin met Vic's eyes with a dead stare, a serious one and Vic never took well to serious conversation with people other than his own head.

"No I don't," Victor scoffed.

"Look at your arms Vic! You were on your fucking floor out cold because you bled so much."

"But I'm still alive, right?" That was the line for Vic. As long as he was still alive, it was alright. But then he could nearly die, like he had, and he wouldn't care. There was no winning with the stubborn teenager.

"For how long?" Kellin spat. 

However long Vic would panick and keep himself alive. That could vary easily, and as time went on it wasn't looking good.

"I'll be fine. Look at the bandages you made me! I'm good as new."

"Doesn't your.. the vertical one. Does it hurt?" Kellin asked with a softer voice.

Vic almost nodded, responding with the honest answer that it hurt like a bitch because he didn't know he had to get stitches. But instead, he settled on a head shake and, "It's healing, so not really."

Kellin looked up at him and seemed to be searching. For a sign of life, almost, as if Vic was dead. Really, he was dying. Maybe Kellin was searching for a way to save him.

I'm a dead man walking, Kelly, Vic thought. You can't save me.


	13. Tear in My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt put an a/n on the chapter for wattpad and thats unnerving

Sometimes you gotta bleed to know  
That you're alive and have a soul  
But it takes someone to come around  
To show you how

She's the tear in my heart  
I'm alive  
She's the tear in my heart  
I'm on fire  
She's the tear in my heart  
Take me higher  
Than I've ever been

~ ~

Quiet.

The house was empty, aside from Vic sitting silently on the couch. The moment his mother left for work and the door shut something seemed to come over Vic. Too exhausted and tired to be sad, it felt more numb but that didn't entirely fit.

All these emotions stirred in his head but all he could do was sit there and look around the room in silence. There was a moment of anger, where Vic wanted to throw everything in sight and shout every curse. But it dissipated in a moment, replaced with his exhaustion; he couldn't even move.

His phone vibrated and he knew he could call Kellin. He wouldn't even have to mention that he wasn't okay, just find a distraction. A healthy one. Why bother, though? It's not that Kellin cared, and Vic didn't want to annoy the teenager. 

He was too tired to cut, anyways. Even if he wanted to he couldn't manage to find the desire to seek out his blades and make a cut. It didn't seem appealing in that moment. He could sleep, and maybe this would be okay. It seemed all he could do because the simple thought of standing seemed excertive; near impossible.

But he didn't want to. Why the hell did he have to be so fucking weak? Why couldn't he just get rid of this feeling like everybody else? Why did this, in some form, have to haunt him every day? He hadn't done anything, why did he have to go through this? But as soon as he thought that he realized how wrong it was.

It's true Vic is no saint, as is no one. Nobody has done no wrong, that's a given, but Vic had to be at some higher level of the Fucking Cunt list. He wasn't a murderer or anything, but the highest of illegal acts isn't the only thing to determine a persons morality.

Vic said impulsive, idiotic things, he did them too. He, by no means, didn't deserve this. Of course he did. And as tired as he was of it, it was home and it was where he belonged.

But by now he was thinking too much and his eyes were wearing thin of staring and he couldn't sit up for much longer. It didn't take long for him to fall on his side, lift his legs and close his eyes.

I'm so fucking sick of this.

~_~_~_~

Vic woke up to four missed calls and an arsenal of texts.

HYEHYEHEYEHEYEHEYEY

VIIIIICCCYYYYY PIEEEEE

wHErE r U

vIcTuRd

dont make me come over there

I CANT EAT THESE CHEETOS ALONE

😭😭😭 VICCCYYYY

It was all from Kellin, of course.

VIC IM THROWING A FUCKING PARTY 2NIGHT AND IF U DONT COME ILL  
UH  
EAT ALL YOUR FOOD

Before Vic could scroll through the remaining texts, his phone rang again and Kellin's name and contact profile (which was a picture of Paimon from Genshin Impact; an annoying small child that goes with you and you can't get rid of; a perfect metaphor of Kellin) lit up the screen.

When Vic answered, Kellin spoke immediately.

"Vic!!"

Vic pulled the phone from his ear, grimacing.

"You're so fucking loud."

"Where the hell were you?"

"Sleeping," Vic muttered and rubbed his eyes, letting out a yawn.

There was muffled screeching on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Yeah so uh did you get my texts?"

"Yeah. Party. Is there alcohol?"

Kellin gasped. "We're teenagers!" He screeched. "Of course there's alcohol. But it's like.. regulated or whatever."

"How the hell do you plan on doing that?"

"I don't. But my eyes on you."

"Why me?" Because I'm a fuckup? Of course Kellin finding out made Vic lose his trust. Of course it fucked up any amount of friendship they had.

"Because you're the one person I care about." There was monching on the other end that stopped abruptly after the sentence, replaced with Kellin's food-filled mouth speaking, "I mean-!"

Vic rolled his eyes. "How straight of you."

Kellin was spitting and mumbling unintelligible words, trying to defend himself.

"Kidding. So what time is the party?"

"You'll come?" Kellin's voice peaked. 

"Do I have a choice?" Kellin made a uh-uh hum. "Then of course. What time?"

"Seven or whatever. Bring donuts! Byeee Viccy pie."

Kellin hung up and left Vic in the same silent house. At least he had something to do, to distract him. Assuming, more hoping, it'd work.

~_~_~_~

There was a box of donuts in his arms as he rung the doorbell with his foot. Shouting and running feet were heard before a small girl opened the door.

"Who're you?" She squeaked, staring up at Vic.

"U-Um-"

"Get out of the way!" Kellin shouted and moved the child. "Vic!" Kellin opened his arms to hug Vic but gasped at the sight of the junk food in his arms. "Donuts." He grabbed them instead and ran back inside.

Vic followed pursuit into the large house that Kellin occupied. It was set up for any high school party, with food and alcohol.

"Here's $20. Sit in the theatre for the next few hours, okay?" Kellin bargained with the little girl.

"Mhm!"

"And you won't tell Mom and Dad."

"Pinky promise!" She held out her pinky that Kellin shook with his own, this shooing her downstairs to their fucking theatre.

"People should start showing up soon. How are you?" Kellin faced Vic.

Vic shrugged. "Fine, you?"

Kellin smiled. "Good. So uh, what do you wanna do?"

Vic eyed the alcohol, but at Kellin's gaze he looked away and instead and the stairs.

"Uh, go to your.. room..?"

Was talking to people always this awkward?

"Sure!"

~_~_~_~

By the time everyone had arrived, Vic was on his third cup of alcohol. What the drink was he didn't know but in his half-drunk state he had some ability to know to keep it in his hands. That and Kellin was by him nearly the entire time.

"What's your name sweetheart?" Coaxed a taller, brunette at Vic.

"His name is Victurd," Kellin slurred. "And he's mine!" He pulled Vic into a tight hug. Vic squirmed, but when Kellin's grasp didn't falter, he rested his head on Kellin's shoulder and pointed at his face.

"He's so meaan!" Vic whined. "Giving me hugs.. making me go outside!"

The girl giggled. "Are you two in a relationship?"

Vic spat out his drink, just barely dodging the girl's clothes. "Nooo! Kelly is straaaight!"

"Yeah, I like straight sticks!" Kellin cheered.

"Okay," the girl shrugged and walked off, clearly believing they were a thing. Or maybe they were denying it, as clear as their relationship was. And given a few more weeks that wouldn't be too far off.

"Kell Bell, let goo. I want another drink," Vic pouted.

"Nopey! No drunky."

"We're both drunk!" Vic giggled. "And I want.. more."

Kellin grabbed Vic's face, analyzing it. "You're too beautiful."

Vic poked Kellin's cheek. "Likewise, arsehole."

"Arse?" They both started laughing.

"Can we sleep now?" Vic murmured. "I'm sleepy.."

"Come onnnn Victor. Sleepy time."

Kellin dragged Vic upstairs to his bedroom.

And no, they didn't have sex, fortunately (or unfortunately, but this is better for plot purposes), but there was cuddles.

Platonic. I mean, they're just drunk.

"Night Viccy," Kellin whispered to the already sleeping Vic, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear and kissing his forehead. "I hope one day you realize how special you are."


	14. Medicine (Devil in My Head)

I've been up all night staring at the ceiling  
Choking on the medicine that I keep drinking  
Round and round, up and down, round and round, up and down  
People talking in my ear, can't hear what they're saying  
Swimming in the fire, the walls keep spinning  
Round and round, up and down, round and round, up and down

I keep lying to myself, now it's too late  
The monster's inside, the monster is me  
I keep lying to myself, now it's too late  
The monster's inside, the monster is me

~ ~

Vic was told by his father that, in his line of family, when alcohol got them, it got them hard. This wasn't wrong by any means. Everytime Vic had a glass of wine or beer he found himself wanting more, and more; just craving that numbness. He wanted everything to just shut up. But the alcohol was temporary as was the cuts, it was just more unhealthy coping mechanisms piled over one another because Vic didn't know how to be healthy. Didn't want to.

And in his head only one thing would permanantly get rid of this. Not that, at the time, it was a big idea. Not one he'd ever go through, right? Vic would never kill himself.

There was this fight he had to call himself sane. To have reasons to argue that he was, even though he felt he wasn't. Slowly, something was crawling inside of him and he'd be left a monster. Crazed and delirious. But he wouldn't kill himself, so he was fine. Right?

That arguement was becoming less and less of an honest arguement. He wanted to stop feeling like shit; stop hiding his arms with long sleeves; stop seeing red and white scars; stop fearing every obsticale that confused him. The only way that seemed attainable was dying. As unwantable as it was, it was all there was. In no complete way did Vic want to die, he wanted a restart. He wished there was a fucking button that could make him go through it all again; but better. And then maybe, he'd be a normal seventeen year old with some annoying, but close, friends. Maybe a significant other, and he'd wear short sleeves and no one would cry at the sight of his arms. Everything tough wouldn't be confusing and overwhelming. The world throws shit at you because that's how life works. It isn't served to you on a silver platter; you work for what you have. So why was it so god damn hard for Vic to figure small things out? Why, when something that took time to understand came along, did Vic get overwhelmed?

Old songs repeated themselves on the old phone in Vic's hand. Each one hit harder and harder till he was a drunken, saddened mess thinking about when he was young and he never needed alcohol or blood to make himself the closest to happy he'd ever be. But they didn't make him happy by any means. Rather numb and, sad. He could be completely nuetral, not happy nor sad, but he'd still want to cut. Because it was an addiction, and he chased the high of the blood and no it did not euphoria. It made him realize what his life had come to. Maybe before it would, but those were months ago.

He read a story, about someone chasing up to their death and the big and little things they did would be the last time they ever did them. Listened to a song, sat in their basement, saw their mom. It could be as simple as eating spaghetti and Vic could feel the fear emitted through the pages.

Now, he wondered if this would be the last time he listened to My Chemical Romance. Would he die soon? Was it completely accidental, or deliberate? Whether by his own hands or anothers. Would it be by his own hands? Would he do that? He nearly had, plenty of times. He got carried away and before he knew it he could die if he didn't stop the bleeding soon. Those times he didn't get the help he needed, mentally or physically, and thus his arms were in utter termoil due to him not stitching them.

But surely he'd grow old, right? Surely some day this would get better and he'd be something.

When Vic saw his future he didn't know what to see. An adult version, that was going about life with no problem? Or the same fuckup he was now, but either living in his childhood room or the streets? He always imagined it'd just get better on its own; magically his problems would disappear. The worlds between his adolescence and adulthood seemed so far apart but truthfully his childhood was nearly over. He'd be an adult, still with fresh scars and the desire to make more. He'd never be normal, would he?

He poured down another long gulp of alcohol. He'd grown accustome to drinking while laying down; it wasn't hard to swallow anymore and while that was probably a bad thing, considering it had been adapted through alcohol, Vic didn't care. Why should he? This, all of it, was inevitable, wasn't it? Whatever God, if any, existed, knew Vic would throw his life away like this. So why was he made?

So maybe there wasn't a God; no God would waste their time on a fuckup like Vic. He didn't deserve anyones time of day, let alone a spot in the land of the living. How many souls could have taken his place, but didn't, because Vic was there first? How many would have done so much better than him?

He lifted the bottle to drink more but there wasn't any to drink. Fuck. He'd really done it, hadn't he? It was one AM and he'd have a massive hangover the next day, probably paired with the concerned and questioning looks of Kellin and Mr. Toro.

Maybe if he slept now, and drank water and advil in the morning, he'd be fine. But that was just hopeful, drunken and tired thinking. There would be questioning, and there would be a headache.

Just another Tuesday.

~_~_~_~

It was either on his arms or his head. But there was always a painful sting in Vic's body when he woke up. When it was both, it was this odd mix of pleasure and pain; which only made Vic think of sex.

And he was going to be late. Not that it mattered, but it was another small inconvience for the boy that fateful Wednesday morning. Just get to the weekend, or Just get to the end of the day, weren't reliable when there's always be another day and another week to try and surpass. And after summer another year, and after school was a line Vic didn't want to think about crossing; a dangerous land Vic was unfit to live in. He could barely survive this, he'd be dead within weeks once out of high school.

And was that so bad?

Really depends on your view, and in Vic's, the line was bordering no. But he'd say yes for the sake of his need to be sane, or believe he was. There isn't quite a good definition of insane. The media might say Vic is, others might say something else is, for example The Oh-So Terrible Illness Gay, or perhaps something that doesn't make a person violent or terrible in any form, but is portrayed as doing such because of idiot filmakers. Maybe they say "Everyone is a bit insane," which makes them sound like a stoner or actual insane person, maybe both; would make an interesting mix.

But far off topic. Whether sane or not Vic was heading to school in the oversized Inu Yasha t shirt and grungy flannel he'd been wearing the past week, coupled with the month-old dirty black jeans. His hair didn't help; a messy brown mix of tangles he hid under a beanie. Oh yes, he did look like a grungy weeb, when truly the shirt was comftorable and found in his closet with no explanation, and he was instead just a sad teen.

Just. All he could be was a just.

"Found ya!" Vic was pulled from the school doors just before he entered by a tall figure. Oliver. He had the same messily dyed hair and large grin, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 

Instead of responding, Vic stared up at Oliver waiting for the taller teenager to continue. His head hurt too much to speak, and he prayed Oliver wasn't in the loud-talker mood because he couldn't handle that, either.

"I never got to apologize for earlier. Getting you caught and all," Oliver explained.

Was that all this was? God, what a waste of Vic's time. He didn't need apologies. While yes the whole "all day school" and week detention thing was a tedious drag, Vic couldn't blame Oliver. Nevertheless, in his hangover state he his teeth grinded in annoyance. Don't be an asshole here, okay?

"No need to apologize man. It's alright," he muttered.

"Yeah, uh, you alright?"

Oh, we're on those terms now?

What was ever the need to ask such a question when truthfully you probably didn't care? Sure there are those that do, but Vic hardly knew Oliver and they gained nothing from asking that. Unless Oliver did, and he was planning to do something. Vic wanted to be suspicious, but he really didn't care. Oliver could try and hurt Vic, but it couldn't be worse than something he'd already done to himself.

"Mhm." He had to refrain from muttering, Just peachy. 

"Alright, see you later?" There was a hopefulness to his voice, as if he wanted to see Vic again.

Hah, like anyone would.

The only one that did seem to want to see Vic again was Kellin, but that was reasonable; Kellin was a complete enigma. Him wanting to see Vic just because only added to that.

Speaking of Kellin, the last time Vic saw him he was drunk and they fell asleep spooning. Another thing to make their next conversation awkward. Oh yes, Vic was perfect, because his day was getting better and better.

"Yeah, later."

Before the bell could ring and shatter Vic's skull, he managed to make it to his first hour. The bell did ring in time to make him whine before his second hour and after that, on his way to the Wonderful Toros classroom.

Kellin hadn't bothered him the entire way; surprising, yes. But they were both forced together in third hour as Kellin shot Vic a smile and took a seat. Vic could feel Kellin's gaze piercing his shoulder that he ignored until it became unbearable.

"Whatever you wanna say, just say it," he groaned.

"I'm just, I- How was your day?" Kellin tried meekly.

"Fine," Vic muttered.

As if having some fucking Vic Detector, Kellin leaned forward and asked, "What's wrong?"

"My brother stole the last piece of cake," Vic spat.

"Really?" Kellin furrowed his eyebrows.

"No, I don't have a brother." His mood turned further sour and his arms itched for the blade.

"Then what's wrong?" 

"Just, screw off," Vic whined and turned his attention back to class, even though he had no attention being given to Toro or what he was saying.

Eventually the bell ringed after Kellin's continued confused glances. People scurried out, including Kellin, but before Vic could leave Toro called him back.

Here we go again.

Something turned in Vic's stomach. This time, things didn't feel as though he could lie his way out of it. He thought Toro had joined the "Vic's A Failure, I Can't Fix It," group. Unless he hadn't and Vic could just make another empty promise. His gut said otherwise.

And when his gut said something, that something was likely right.

"Could you sit down, Victor?"

Full names. Was he in trouble? If they were gonna get on him for skipping classes, he'd be faced with the principal, right? He didn't remember doing anything bad in the class, aside from homework. Unless Oliver had been up to something and they framed him. Oliver didn't seem untrustworthy, though.

Oh well, no one is trustworthy.

"You're not in trouble."

Then why the full name!

Well he's a teacher. But he's never used it before. God damn it, it was just a name! Vic was overthinking, hoping for every other possibility than the one he desperately hoped wasn't it.

Oh, poor boy, but it was.

Luck doesn't exist with Vic Fuentes. His entire life seemed an unlucky sequence of events. 

"I'd like you to be honest with me," Toro began with a calm voice and soft face. "The bandages from a couple weeks ago, the constant long sleeves. I know it's October, but inside, and back in September. I mean, it was in the seventies and I saw you- Point is, Vic, are you trying to hide something?"

No words could be said. He couldn't think of a snarky reply, not even one in his head. Of course Toro knew. Kellin knew, Toro would find out, and when people found out it never went well Vic knew. It led to trust and wearing them down like a selfish bitch because he couldn't handle his own emotions-

"Vic, breathe, alright? I need you to breathe."

"I- I am, breathing, ju-just fine," he mumbled and tried to steady his shallow breaths. He wasn't having a panic attack, not there not then. That just proved all Toro's suspicions, not that they hadn't already been.

"Do you self harm, Vic?" He asked it bluntly, staring him in the eye which made the situation all the worse. His eyes glossed over. He couldn't say it; he couldn't admit it in front of somebody. Not even himself. In the several years he'd done it, he'd only admitted it aloud once and the way it rolled off his tongue, came out his lips, wasn't right. It felt so wrong. In a way it was and maybe that was him realizing how terrible this addiction was, or at the time, becomimg. He didn't want to admit it again. He wanted to stay in the world, in his head, where no one cared and it was fine. He was fine.

He wasn't fine.

"I won't judge you, in any manner," Toro assured him. "I know it's hard, I don't expect you to say it, or show me, or tell me why, tell me anything for that matter. But I am here, and until you feel more comftorable talking to me I won't tell a parent or counsellor here."

"No, y-you can't tell them. No matter what no one else can know pl-please-"

"Hey hey, breathe. Like I said, no one will be told right now until you're more comftorable or it's urgent."

Vic wouldn't tell Toro anything. He'd ignore his knowing of it, say he never admitted it therefore it wasn't true. That wouldn't work forever, but maybe he wouldn't be around forever.

The more he thought about it, as he left the classroom and thus the school, back to his room and blades, he began to cherish the idea.

He ran away from every obsticale. This was just another. And he could run away from all of them if he gave up.

So he scribbled it down. Just a thought, just an idea. Not like he'd go through, right? Just a comfort source.

January 1st.


	15. Jamie All Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> id like to thank my friend for writing the fight scene but idk their ao3 if they have one

Don't tell me that I'm dreaming  
When all I ever wanted was to dream another sunset with you  
If I roll over when it's over  
I'll take this Cali sunrise with me  
And wake up with the fondest memories

We made love by the ocean  
As the waves crashed around you  
Sunsets never were so bright  
And the skies never so blue  
You opened up into my arms  
And we laughed as I held you  
I'll never go back to Georgia  
Not at least till I have to

~ ~

He hadn't done it in awhile. But this wasn't a normal awhile, it'd been actual weeks.

His arms held a near sense of normality. That normality being scewed, of course. There were still prominent cuts, but they were visibly old. Even if he went another three weeks without doing it, his arms were impeccably scarred. It would be visible to everyone, and only two people knew. Neither were supposed to, they were just the first to care and have a functioning brain.

Vic's random burst of not cutting wasn't deliberate. It just happened because he didn't want to. That wasn't to say on, plenty of nights, he felt horrible, but it didn't resort to himself bleeding. Instead he either slept, laid there miserably, or called Kellin. He couldn't find the energy to do it, even if he wanted to, and eventually he didn't want to.

Until now. He still hadn't broken the streak, but it crossed his mind every now and then; the thought of his near clean arms being filled with fresh red cuts he had to hide again. Kellin would be disappointed, because he knew Vic hadn't done it in awhile and that it wasn't an act of wanting to stop but still a big step forward. But it seemed Vic was best at disappointing, and all he'd had given to him in his life was disappointment. He had no reason not to.

Aside from the orange dust accumulating on the silver blades. Was tetanus worth the sharp pain and familiar blood? That was a debate, at least to Vic. He was losing care over his well being, but tetanus was painful, and not the kind he strived for when he opened his skin. 

With a sigh, he dropped them in the trash, wrapped in toilet paper and covered by more trash so his mother wouldn't see. He'd have to get more, but he really didn't want to go out. It crossed his mind to ask Kellin, but that was out of the question. No way Kellin would agree to that.

His mother, on the other hand, might. Vic had always bought them himself, to elude suspicion from his mother, but maybe he could ask. Just this once. His arms were itching and the more he thought about it the more desperate his mind became.

"Mom? Can you pick up some pencil sharpeners?" His mother and himself didn't speak to each other much. His mother loved him dearly, really, but Vic was Vic and stayed in his room or outside. She assumed it was Vic being a teenager; wanting independence. As long as he was home by curfew and didn't start up bad habits (which, he had, but she was too oblivious to notice) she would allow it to go on. It was a phase all teenagers go through, they'd be close when he graduated high school.

"We already have some at home," she answered simply, walking over to a drawer and picking out a handful. But there were numerous things wrong.

The blades were covered in one, by a plastic cover. Vic could break it, if it was smaller. But he found the larger ones near immortal as no matter how hard he pushed, what large furniture he put it under, it wouldn't break.

And the other, the one with attainable blades, was rusty. Years old. He was frustrated. Biting his lip and taking the plastic covered one from his mother grasp with a forced smile. He could go out himself but, again, he didn't want to, he didn't have much money, and his mother could very well be suspicious. It wasn't entirely likely she would be, but it was a possibility Vic didn't want to take. His luck regarding the secret area of things was running thin. Maybe one day his mother would find out about his self mutilating tasks.

He hoped, by then, he wouldn't be around to see her reaction.

That could either mean he died, what anyone would assume from that statement, or the calmer one; he got far fucking away from that town and started a new life. But the phrase "new life" was so limited. His past was still there, as would be the scars and self hatred, the need for more deep cuts. All that would be changed would be the people, the enviorment, and his age.

So maybe the former was the better option.

There always was January first. A vague idea; just a date in the back of his mind. It hardly mattered to him and it didn't have to be a suicide date, it could be the date he gave Kellin some ridiculous gift like a lingerie or 50 Shades of Grey signed by the moron of an author. But it could, just as likely, be a suicide date. Not just any, though, his date.

He wouldn't go into detail; not then. It was too early and his head wasn't entirely down that path, not yet. But it was getting there; he was getting worse. At some point it'd be unbearable and it'd seem his only option.

He knew it wasn't. He knew all the bullshit people spout in desperate hopes to save a fleeing life, and he knew it was true. He couldn't find it himself to care. There were so many other, better arguements to say to a suicidal person and he knew those too. He had plenty of time to think and in that time realized things, things that went against what he did. He knew the truth to them, but he didn't care. He was stubborn; where he was was where he'd stay, until he had nowhere to stay but a coffin underground. All those things could be true, but truth was Vic would slowly shove the idea that death would be and had to be the way he went.

And he didn't even want to die.

But getting better was far scarier, and he forced himself to have death as the only option.

He wished he could fall asleep, into some deep pleasant dream and never wake up. The dream was eternal happiness, where he had people that loved him that he loved back and he didn't have permanantly scarred arms or haunting thoughts or the fucking want to be in that dream in the first place; knowing he can't be in that dream, and the closest thing to it is death.

When everything feels wrong, death seems the only right.

It's not, Vic's acknowledged that. But there isn't a place for him. He just doesn't fucking matter.

There were pills on his bed and his bloodshot, tear filled eyes stared lustfully at them. Maybe lustfully wasn't the right word; made him sound like a drug addict. But longfully did the same.

Painfully. Yes. He stared at them painfhy. Pain evident in his eyes and body. He was tired and he'd been up those two hours of the night thinking about everything. The insignificant and the most definitely significant. If only his brain could shut up.

If only.

It couldn't. That was the best part of overdosing. He swallowed a handful of pills, closed his eyes, and allowed his body to shut down. He fell into that sleep, that prolonged dream, and his brain shut up. It didn't shut up, in fact, it stopped working entirely. Early retirement for the still growing, still learning, body. There are people that hate it when others don't reach their potential. Fortunately, Vic wouldn't anger them. He had no potential. And anyway, it was hardly his fault, or anyone elses. In most cases (and only most, because, surely, there are some lazy people that refuse to do shit. But then there are the undermined majority that don't) it's the envoirnment preventing them; family, money, a toxic significant other. 

Some people were just dealt a bad deck of cards. It's their choice whether they forfeit or make the most of their chances. The latter isn't to gaurantee a win, nor a lose. It's all a game of chance, really, with a bit of drive. But Vic didn't see there being any chance for him. He could've, maybe, been the jock with friends and a hot girlfriend getting crossfaded every Friday night. Instead he was the complete and utter loner who spent Friday nights locked in a room with a blade and repetitive, self depricating thoughts.

Maybe, in another world, though. Perhaps, with a better deck of cards.

But this wasn't fucking Yu-Gi-Oh. There was no "heart of the cards" to save him. Only he could, it seemed, but he didn't seem worth saving to himself.

I'm simply.. doomed.

~_~_~_~

He never took the pills. Or, well, he did, but it wasn't enough to overdose. He took one, walked downstairs to get more water, and didn't proceed further. Instead he closed the bottle, returned it to its captivity, and went to bed. He no longer had the energy to do it, let alone want to. Because yes, feeling sad, or in this case, suicidal, took energy. A devestating one Vic simply didn't have. Sleep couldn't regenerate it; or any type of energy for that matter. Nothing really could, it just came and went as it pleased. As quick as a bee.

But it didn't matter, anyways. The night before was just that; the night before. Today was today and the day he had to live in that moment. It'd be tomorrow in twenty four hours and just again as insignificant as the night before. His life was just a passing of days, none of which mattered. All that did was remembering to stay awake and breathe, but was that truly essential?

Not really.

Neither was the school he attended, the same familiar building he hadn't come to miss. There wasn't a memory to long for, not in that building, or in any. It seemed almost tragic that at some point Vic's life seemed to lose its color, like a dried out painting. And color truly means so much, more than you'd imagine. Life can be terrible, and it was, but it can still have color. Maybe not much, but the sunset or that butterfly; the things in romance movies they fawn over and you groan at, those hold the most significance when everything else doesn't hold any. 

At some point, for Vic, none of that made his eyes glimmer, or his lips twitch upwards at all.

So it was ironic- no, baffling, when Vic walked in the same dull building to a smiling, eye-glimmering boy that made Vic want to smile.

The dullest painting held the brightest boy.

"Good morning Vic!" Kellin greeted with a giggle, no particular reason for it, but its existence caused Vic to blush and bite back a smile. Fuck, where did Kellin get so cute?

"'Mornin, Kell Bell."

"I gotta go. I don't wanna be late, 'cause I was waiting for somebody for so long, but I'll see you at lunch!" He leaned over to kiss Vic's cheek as if it didn't make Vic blush and look down. Kellin paid that no mind and ran off. It shouldn't have made matters worse, but the jeans he wore fit perfectly around his ass and what the hell? Vic shouldn't be staring.

No, my pants are not getting tighter.

With a forming boner to hide, Vic rushed into class and hid under the desk before questioning from his peers could arise. Not that his "peers" cared enough to ask.

A text shot Vic out of his thoughts, mid class. It was Kellin, of course, because who else would it be, the high school quarterback? 

party 2night. will u come?

who's throwing it

mat nicholls

Speak of the devil. He was the high school quarterback.

you think i'd last there? ive never so much as acknowledged him, let alone him acknowledge me. id get chewed alive

but i'll be there to protect you! cant let my little viccy get hurt <3

ion know..

please? ):

fin

"Victor." 

Vic flinched and looked up at the disappointed teacher gazing down at him.

"What's the rule on phones here?"

"I'd rather you just fucking scold me or take it than make me recite the rules we hear everyday to the entire class," Vic muttered, still loud enough for the teacher to hear, though.

"Hand it over," the teacher spat, holding out her hand. Vic slammed his phone into it and looked away.

On her way back to her desk, even though mumbled, Vic heard her say, "He's going nowhere in life. No fault of mine."

I know. I fucking know.

~_~_~_~

The last thing Vic wanted was to attend a Thursday night high school party hosted by the biggest jock. There would be no Vic in school tomorrow; he'd be fucking spent. He already was, but now he had to overkill just for the sake of Kellin. It was truly a wonder why he did the most absurd things for that boy, the one he'd known for just over a month that was stupidly infatuated with him and knew far too much.

Yes, truly a wonder.

Even in the early hours of the party, there were people on tables making out, others playing beer pong nearly shitfaced. Vic did not want to be seen by anbody, if anything he wanted to hide in the bathroom, but like hell would Kellin allow that. The boy was already by Vic's side, pulling him to a group of people he had no clue ofs existence.

"Vic! These are my friends," Kellin began the introductions with a big smile. "Gabe, Nick, Chewy, and Dominic. All of you guys, this is Vic!"

"So, the famous Victor Fuentes," the supposed "Dominic" spoke, if Vic's memory was correct. Then again, his memory proved to be similiar to a person with dementia, so it wasn't certain. 

"Kellin talks about me?"

"Uh, definitely. He talks about every new person, but this is constant. He doesn't shut up!" This time it was someone Vic had forgotten the name of, but he had dyed red hair and a sleeveless denim jacket.

Vic chuckled at the blushing, angry Kellin smacking his friends to shut up.

"What makes you so special, then?" Dominic questioned. "Why does our Kelly adore you?"

"I have no idea," Vic sighed, leaning on Kellin. "I can't help it." He shrugged, hopelessly. "Just putting up with the ride."

"You love me," Kellin giggled and wrapped an arm around Vic.

"Unfortunately."

Dominic was giggling, while the rest were smiling at the two. They could easily be mistaken for a couple, they both acknowledged that, but not enough to question if they wanted to.

Hell, maybe not just look like one, but be one.

But that was absurd.

"Good luck, Victurd. Don't hurt our Kelly, or you'll have hell to pay," Dominic warned and patted Vic's shoulder, walking away with the rest.

"Ya wanna go see the lights?" Kellin asked excitedly, staring at Vic hopefully.

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Vic hadn't known there'd be lights. Aside from the seizure-enducing ones in the living room that went along with the unintelligible music that was playing. But there were other lights, at the back of the house by the pond.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Kellin gawked.

Fairly lights wrapped around poles circling the pond. There was a dock walking out into the middle of the pond, with the fairy lights following them. 

There were a million things he could say, but Vic found himself wanting to say the cheesiest. They were lost staring at them, not noticing the figure creeping up behind them.

"Hey fellas!" Arms were wrapped around Vic and Kellin, causing the shorter of the boys to flinch under the embrace.

"Dan!" Kellin shouted. "How are ya?" 

"I'm alright mate. Who's this?" Dan nodded down at Vic. 

"This is my friend, Vic!" Kellin introduced.

Dan's eyes scrunched. He stared at Vic for a moment before remembering the familiar face. "You're that short quiet kid that barely attends school, right?"

He wasn't that recognizable, right? He thought nobody paid any attention to him there, it'd be the same at that party. 

"I, um, yeah?" 

Dan took a step back, sizing up the man in front of him. The scowl on his face became more prominent as he began to speak. 

“So you’re the queer that has his hands all over Kellin, trying to corrupt him to become like you huh?”

Panic struck Vic as Dan viciously spits his words towards him. He took a step back from Kellin with a nervous laugh. His eyes moved between them, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this situation. 

“W-what are you talking about? Kellin’s just a good friend of mine.” Vic internally cringed as he stuttered through the blatant lie. He glanced at Kellin, hoping the other can help him. Instead he found him frozen in shock much like himself. Fuck fuck fuck-

Dan found his response rather amusing, letting out a snicker at the scene unfolding. “A good friend? Do you think I’m stupid?” Dan redirected his attention to Kellin. “This is what I meant when I told you that you can’t befriend faggots. All they’ll do is try to turn you into one of them.”

The words that Dan spoke burned a hole into Vic’s chest. The overwhelming sense of shame and guilt take over. His words repeat like a mantra, festering in his mind as he wonders if there’s any real truth behind them. 

“I think that’s enough, Dan.” Kellin said while stepping forward, trying to mediate the rapidly escalating problem with little to no luck. If anything, it seemed to rile Dan up even more, much to their dismay. 

“No I don’t think it is. There’s only way way to handle queers like him, and that’s to teach them a lesson.” Dan replied as he took a step back, balancing his weight on his foot, and threw his right fist out in a curved punch towards Vic’s temple. 

Stumbling backwards, Vic tried to keep himself from falling. Pain seared through him as he tries to get up and defend himself yet failing. Blurry silhouettes and the panicked voice of someone was the last thing he remembered before everything turns black.

When his vision clears and his hearing returned Vic was no longer by the pond outside the house, or stammering excuses to Dan. Rather in the arms of Kellin, a crying Kellin, and sitting on the sidewalk with something pressed against his eye.

"F-fuck."

Kellin sat up. "Vic?" He let out a breath of relief at the sight of Vic awake. "Are you okay? Does your eye hurt? I'm trying to stop the swelling, but it'll probably result in a black eye-" 

"Kell, it's fine," Vic spoke up, sitting up with a wince. "Thank you, by the way, for it all. You shouldn't have to put up with this."

"I want to. It's all worth it, if, you know, we're friends." Kellin smiled. The moon lit up his pale face, and his beautiful eyes and gaze over Vic was enough to make Vic smile too.

"I'm proud of you, y'know," he continued. "However long it's been since you cut. There doesn't need to be a number, a month, a couple weeks, this is a step forward." 

"But I.. I didn't stop because I want to I just haven't felt like it," Vic argued.

"It's better than nothing. Does it feel better, not having all those scars?"

Vic shrugged. It didn't, but he wouldn't tell Kellin that. He wouldn't admit the fading scabs for cuts were awkward and what Vic wanted was a fresh batch of wounds reminding him he'd never stop. He knew this was temporary; but he wouldn't tell Kellin that.

"Thank you, Kell. For everything. For being the only person here for me, for putting up with me, for listening to me, for-"

Interrupted by Kellin, in the most unexpected manner. It didn't make sense, but with the beautiful moon being their only light to show Vic's face that Kellin had grown to adore, and Vic rambling about thank yous for things anyone should do, it only made sense to spout three little words.

"I love you."


	16. Mother Tongue

didn't see it coming  
But I never really had much faith  
In the universe's magic (Magic), oh, no  
Till it pulled us to that time and place  
And I'll never forget  
When the floodgates opened, we, we cried an ocean  
It still has me choking; it's hard to explain  
I know you know me, you don't have to show me  
I, I feel you're lonely, no need to explain

So don't say you love me "Fala amo"  
Just let your heart speak up, and I'll know  
No amount of words could ever find a way to make sense of this  
So I wanna hear your mother tongue

~ ~

"I love you."

Was it meant to be said? Did he mean it? It'd never been said to Vic before, not in a romantic sense. And even then it was only once or twice from a family member; strained and he questioned the sincerity of it.

But most importantly why? Why would Kellin say that? 

"Please say something, anything. Whether you- or like- God damn it I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"If you wanted to tease me, you could have easily started a rumor. It's not like I'd fall for that," Vic said nonchalantly.

"What the fuck?" Kellin nearly slapped the ignorant, unloved boy right there. "You think- You thought I was lying? You fucking moron!" 

Harshly, Vic's head was pulled toward's Kellin's and they were kissing before he realized what Kellin even said. And then he had to comprehend that they were kissing.

Jesus fuck, they were kissing.

And Vic liked it. He didn't know what that meant. He didn't know how to kiss, even. The fucking hermit never had a first kiss, a first date or any experience in love whatsoever. But this felt right; Kellin's lips against his, the tight grip Kellin had around his waist. 

It was over all too soon. Kellin staring with almost a desperate look; scared and tired and worried. 

"Please tell me you- Fuck, you're probably straight. Who am I kidding?"

"Actually, I thought I was aro."

Kellin's face fell. "Holy shit, Vic I'm so sorry-"

"But," he inched closer, their lips centimeters away. "I liked that. And I don't know what that means, but if you liked it too, that's all that matters."

"And what if I did?"

"Then I'd ask if I could kiss you again."

"Well, I kissed you."

"Fine, would you kiss me again?"

"I was waiting for you to ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oH My gOd tHEy DiD tHe g@y


	17. Leave It All Behind

When you look at my life, tell me what do you see?  
I'm only human, so don't expect too much from me  
I lost my faith, what have I become?  
I don't think I can be safe from what I'm running for

Will you remember me  
If I were to fall into the sky?  
And what will they think of me  
If I leave it all behind?  
When I leave it all behind?

Would you be so surprised if I gave up tonight?  
I'm barely breathing, I wanna kill the pain I feel inside  
But I won't quit for the people I love  
So I'll say I'm fine until the day I fucking see the light

~ ~

Swift and clean, so memorable but hardly painful. He felt like cying but he didn't, he couldn't cry. He'd done enough crying and now the painful exhaustion set in. How did people get through a measly day. Things should be looking up for Vic, he had a sort-of-boyfriend now, and a good mom and teacher but despite all of it he felt meaningless and so. fucking. exhausted.

It was becoming an overused word in his vocabulary, not that anyone heard him say it all the time. He rarely spoke to anyone aside from Kellin and he refused to express to the boy, despite his many attempts, what went on in his head. If he did, he might get carried away. He probably would. He could keep a secret for as long as he pleased, as long as no one asked. But if they did, and if he obliged, then there was no secrecy left.

The cuts did hurt eventually. After Vic noticed the orange spot in the middle of one of the scissor blades. He washed the cuts, slapped a band aid or two on, and called it a day. He wouldn't get rid of the scissors, but because of their rust he wouldn't use them either. But they held a nostalgic value, a triggering one, but in the state he was in, one that refused to get better, he couldn't find it in himself to throw out the scissors that had gotten him through all of last year. The amount of times he hid in the bathroom and cut, before going back to class and hoping someone would notice. A teacher, rather than a student. Because back then, yes, he did want someone to notice, he did want to get better.

Funny how quickly views can change. 

And funny how when you want something, you don't get it, but when you don't want it anymore, you recieve it. Vic didn't want anyone, absolutely no one to know of his bad habit, but low and behold two people discovered it. Both cared; neither would ridicule him or spread rumors about it. They'd both sworn their secrecy and were intent on keeping the promise so long as Vic wasn't in harms way, or a threat to others.

Nevertheless, Vic going about his day alone, skipping half of school and always going back to his blades, was a routine he never wanted to break. And as much as he cared for Kellin, in now a confusing romantic-like sense, he didn't want Kellin to know. He didn't want Kellin to get hurt, or try and interfere, and maybe Kellin never should have met Vic, because Vic was a time bomb, whether he liked to admit it or not. Destined to be set off and explode. The way things were, isolated, no one would get hurt (aside from his mother; but he didn't know that), but now somebody would, maybe, probably. Everything seemed ruined.

If Vic was to care the same way.

Vic did care for Kellin, maybe more than he cared for anyone, but that didn't mean he couldn't imagine life without himself. Or in a better sense; no life for him at all.

He knew how much it could, more so would, hurt Kellin, but at some point you have to make a descision. The hardest one of your life, and for Vic, it was if he'd have no life anymore, or spare Kellin's emotions and stay.

The fact Kellin had such an impact in the first place made him desperate to go back and make sure the two had never spoken. Vic knew from the start this would happen, aside from Kellin and him kissing; Vic never imagined that. But it only made it worse.

So utterly tired; just about ready to sleep. Vic was tempted. Just lay on the bed, close his eyes and forget.

But he had a better option.

It was midnight by now. He hadn't been able to sleep. He wanted to, truly, but when he's fucked up like that he just can't. It's a reason he can't explain and maybe that was the most irking part; if he didn't know the reason he assumed it was simply an act of attention seeking. It made sense though, didn't it? Wanting to stay fucked up longer, just for attention.

Vic had never snuck out before. He skipped school and never turned in a single assignment (in fact he'd probably have to retake senior year; if he couldn't convince them to lie about his grades or drop out), but he'd never snuck out. Simply because, before, he was too young and scared, and then he was always tired. But now he was destined to live another hour of hell, why not sneak out and enjoy the moon, and the stars and maybe his own demise?

The park wasn't far from his house but it was a gruely walk for a kid at twelve in the morning too awake to sleep but too tired to want to live. Nonetheless the playground was in sight, as was the basketball court and baseball field that brought back memories he never wanted to remember.

Why did things hurt so much? Why did the world pin him against a wall and spit in his face? Why did it take things away and shove every reminder of their lost existence at him? 

Why couldn't he just forget. Why couldn't he cut until his eyes closed and his lungs stopped working?

He used to lay in this field on rainy days, with his headphones in. And he'd take his jacket off if he was alone and feel the cold wet grass. For a moment everything would feel peaceful. Back then it was, far more than it was now. His mind was a storm that wouldn't stop.

He sat in the grass. It was cold, but not wet. The entire park was dark, and would've been an eerie quiet if it weren't for the winds that blew the side of Vic's face.

It didn't matter. He was freezing but maybe this would be the last cold he felt. Maybe he would die that night. Or maybe someone would find him, in his short sleeves and a blade in his pocket, ready to start it all again. They'd throw him in a pysch ward and he'd stay there. He didn't know how well he could play The Sane Guy, because he wasn't sane and he hardly had to play it. The people at school didn't care and he ignored his ignorant mother. The only person that did care knew he was far from okay.

If only Kellin knew how far that could go.

Vic didn't realize he'd made a cut until there were three others there. Everything felt more like a show he was watching, and then he realized he was in the show these sick people were watching, or perhaps reading, and he had to carry out the acts. It was so much easier to stop moving entirely but he had to do it all on his own accord.

So he did, again and again. They were never quite deep enough but they did hurt. But how could be die when he couldn't make a deep cut?

Hard, slow, but still not enough. Tears brimmed his eyes because he just fucking couldn't but others could so easily.

He had veins, though. At the top of his wrists. That was uncharted territory. He'd never cut there because it honestly made him curl up at the thought. So disgusting. Cutting a vein. So painful. His wrists. Ugh. Almost like a papercut but worse.

But if it got the job done was it worth it?

Vic looked away. Eyes shut in disgust as he brought it over his wrist and the visible veins, sharply and swiftly and the cut formed in a second.

He was really gonna do it, wasn't he?

He pushed away the panic before it could overtake him and make him call Kellin. And instead he thought. But maybe that was worse. Thinking could both end a mans life, and save it.

He wasn't ready. As nice as it would be to go without notes and have them figure out how fucked up his head had gotten on their own, he wanted his final words to be heard. Mysteries were fun to hear and think about for a couple minutes, but being one was something different entirely. Vic could not be that. They had to know- but the blood was there and he was wasting it- but he needed to be prepared- but Kellin would know. He could fix it himself.

His shirt did hardly anything. It wasn't anything like a tourniquet. The blood seemed to go through the shirt and when he pulled it away it hadn't made any motives to stop.

Okay, so he may have cut a vein.

But maybe he hadn't, and it was simple overreacting. Truly Vic was fine, right? He'd live.

He scrambled to his feet. There was a small spot of red on the grass that he ignored and continued walking home. No one better be driving at this time. No one could see him like this. A fearful mess with scarred arms and a bleeding wrist. It was quite obvious it had become more than a "coping mechanism," as doctors had put it, and now an attempt at suicide. Vic hated both phrases. This wasn't a coping mechanism gone wrong, at least he didn't want to think of it as such. He didn't want it to be what the doctors wrote down with their stupid degrees and their high paycheck lives. He absolutely despised how they'd try to fix someone that they couldn't understand. All they did was gather "data" and make an assumption. That only works for scientists, with plants and animals, not a persons mind. Data doesn't determine what a person wants, or needs, or how you can "fix" them.

Maybe Vic belonged there, anyways. Toro had stated their secret remain a secret so long as Vic wasn't a danger to himself. But he was; he always had been. Thus the importance what he'd done that night remain secret. They'd throw him in a nut house where he'd probably stay for his entire life. Although, he believed be could sign himself out once he was eighteen. So maybe it didn't matter, and he'd simply be confined for awhile. It got him out of school, and Kellin's worried eyes, and faking it. 

He was so ready to throw his life away, because it didn't seem there was anything to throw away.

He hardly noticed how light headed he began to feel. Nothing fatal like, he chose to believe. Whether it was or wasn't Vic didn't care. He didn't want to, and by then he was home, and he'd never called Kellin and Kellin never found out. And his mom was still asleep, ignorant as ever. Maybe Vic would've gotten help, if somebody cared enough to force him. Addmittely part of him wanted it, he just couldn't ask. That was on him, he guessed. But it wasn't changing.

"It's time for bed," he muttered at one in the morning on a school night, with a bloody wrist and maybe if he hadn't stopped to think, he wouldn't be standing there. He'd still be in the field, but no longer breathing.

If only.

~_~_~_~

He didn't want to wake up that morning.

Not only because he'd failed at something he'd been longing for for months now, but because he'd gotten less than six hours of sleep. He still remained awake when he got home and he kept waking up at inconvienent times during the night with a painful feeling in his wrist. He got up early to wash off the dried blood. It hurt like a bitch, not just pyschally but to stare at. A gash in his wrist by his veins. Another regret added to his list for when he would die. The biggest one would be his existence entirely.

By the time Vic had a minimal bandage over his wrist and ready for school he was already doomed late. It was 9:30. Fuck.

He didn't rush, though. He took his sweet time arriving to first hour, and by then there were fifteen minutes left. He wondered why he bothered showing. Not just that day, but any at all. If only for three hours, why? He never turned an assignment in, or payed attention or went the full day.

Hell, why did he even bother waking up?

He didn't need the same thoughts as the night previously plauging his mind in school. He had Toro as his last class and he didn't want him to see the bandage on his wrist or the pleading look in his eyes to not be.

And thankfully, Toro didn't. Vic's sleeves had a thumbhole he used to keep them up the entire hour, and kept his head down, which wasn't unusual.

Kellin was there though. And Kellin was a happy kid that cared for Vic in the most confusing sense. 

"Vic!" Kellin weaved through the crowds, giggling as he reached Vic and pulled him to the side. Once they were in a secluded area their lips met before Vic could think. He could hardly complain though, Kellin's lips felt so perfect against his, making him feel a way he'd never felt before.

"Hey Kell," Vic whispered, smiling at the raven haired boy. "I- so- um- I guess we, we're, um, what are we?" He breathed, still catching air from the kiss. 

"Well, I don't wanna rush into things," Kellin started, forming a nervous pit in Vic's stomach, "but I think.. I think we can start somewhere." Kellin was messing with the hem of Vic's shirt, mumbling but smiling a bit. He looked up to meet Vic's eyes with a glimmer in his own. "You make me.. happy".

Guilt started to pool in Vic's chest. He'd almost died the night before, at least he wanted to believe so, that way he knew he was still capable of it. But Kellin cared, and Vic still didn't quite see himself alive for very long. 

"Sounds good," he whispered, clutching Kellin's hand in a light grip.

"What's wrong?" 

"I just- Nothing." 

"Viccy, be honest."

His tone tempted Vic. He wanted to spill; beg Kellin to slap him and tell him not to do what he was so intent on. Tell him how he'd nearly died the previous night and all Vic wanted was to feel okay again.

But no words made it past his lips.

"Vic," Kellin whispered. "Did you cut again?"

The question struck him. How did he know? 

"I-"

"Let me see. Please? I just want to know if you cleaned them right. Did you?"

"I hardly cleaned them," Vic admitted. "I mean.. I cleaned one."

Kellin's faced paled. "Why only one?"

Vic didn't meet Kellin's fearful gaze but didn't pull away when he lifted Vic's sleeve.

"That's on your wrist."

"No shit, sherlock," Vic spat with more spite than he meant. "I'm realizing now I should've done it vertically. So frustrated on bleeding, when that's how I've done it before. Went through all that trouble-"

"Vic!" 

Vic looked up. Kellin's heart broke at the saddened look in Vic's eyes. Because really, Vic's heart had been broken for quite longer.

"This is killing you!" Kellin cried.

"That's what I want, Kell Bell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's getting repetitive ik 💀  
> i prewrote a lot of stuff that werent in order and then fill in the holes without remembering what i already wrote in other chaprwrs so- 
> 
> anywahs this is fan fiction dont @ me


	18. Sugar We're Going Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this god smut warning sort of i kinda died half way through it

We're goin' down, down in an earlier round  
And Sugar, we're goin' down swinging  
I'll be your number one with a bullet  
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it  
We're goin' down, down in an earlier round  
And Sugar, we're goin' down swinging  
I'll be your number one with a bullet  
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it

Is this more than you bargained for yet?  
Oh, don't mind me, I'm watching you two from the closet  
Wishing to be the friction in your jeans  
Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him?  
I'm just a notch in your bedpost  
But you're just a line in a song  
(Notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

~ ~

"Bored. Bored. Bored!" But no matter how many times he said it, it didn't cure Kellin's lack of available activities. It was Saturday and his parents were out, working. No wonder they were rich when they both worked full time, more hours than probably legal. And it wasn't that they put work first, because they really did care for Kellin, but their home wasn't a place of solace; quite the contrary, really.

He'd paced around the house countless times. It was quiet and unnerving, really. Everything he could do he'd already done.

viccy? 🥺

Vic didn't answer immediately, which wasn't odd but it made Kellin groan because he'd lost patience. He could go outside but it was sunny and hot, even for a late October day.

Speaking of October, it was nearly Halloween. Kellin could make a Halloween costume!

But he wasn't the most creative. What would he make? And with who? Nobody makes a costume on their own; that's lame. 

He checked his phone for the thousandth time, praying Vic had responded but he hadn't.

Fine, Kellin would make it on his own and Vic would be so jealous. He giggled at the idea, but frowned because as funny as it'd be, it would be so much more appealing if Vic was there with him.

i miss you :(

Kellin huffed and leaned over the kitchen table. He sat there thinking, daydreaming until his phone beeped and lit up with a text from Vic.

sorry i was busy. want me to come over?

Kellin grinned.

you better get your cute butt over here, fuentes

yes sir

Kellin blushed and shoved his phone in his pockets, excitedly making his way to the door and watching for Vic.

It didn't take long for the brown haired boy to run up his doorsteps and be pulled in by Kellin.

"Slow down!" Vic laughed. Vic seemed to be smiling so much more. The happy light in his face made him all the more beautiful. Kellin wondered what made him so sad. Why he deserved it, becaude he really didn't, yet he kept retreating into an unhealthy habit.

Kellin stopped in the kitchen, facing Vic with determination in his face. "Today, we make our Halloween costumes!" he declared enthuiastically. Vic rolled his eyes.

"You brought me here for that?"

"What?! Halloween is the best holiday! How could you not love it?"

"I haven't dressed up since I was thirteen," Vic mumbled.

Kellin gasped. "That has to change! I can't have a stable relationship with someone who doesn't like Halloween. On Halloween, we dress up, take my cousins out to Trick-or-Treat, and then watch horror movies! Or, I do, my cousins are too young."

"You watch them on your own?" Vic frowned. "No family or friends?"

Kellin's throat tightened.

"My parents are out and I'm the only child. Most of my friends are in the party scene too, so they're out drunk and that's just.. not my thing," Kellin admitted. "I mean, I'll party but they're out all the time. I feel bad for not going."

"You're not inclined to go, ya know," Vic told him. "You aren't a bad friend."

Kellin nodded and smiled. "Doesn't matter. Let's make costumes!"

"What are the costumes?"

Kellin's smile fell. "I hadn't thought of that."

~_~_~_~

Eventually, they agreed (but didn't really agree; Kellin forced the option because there was no others) on a costume duet.

"This is so stupid," Vic muttered.

"It is not!"

"It doesn't even fit the whole crew! I mean, there's like five dudes and we don't have any friends that are as emo as you," Vic sneered.

"Bleh bleh bleh. I can so get Dom or Nick to do this too! Now, which one do you want to be?" Kellin slid a picture of their options to Vic.

Vic muttered another complaint under his breath and stared at the paper.

Mystic; Prophet; Mourner-

"Destroyer? Deviant? Are these two fucking? 'Cause like, deviants all secuding him and destroyer, y'know, destroy-"

"Vic, if you don't pick a god damn character I'm going to lock you in my basement," Kellin threatened.

"Fine! Fine. Mystic?"

"Perfect! The quiet cute one." Kellin grabbed a black scarf from the table and slid it over to Vic. "I don't know much of his outfit, but of course you need black jeans. Which shouldn't be a problem."

"I can do your makeup though!" Kellin giggled. "He has some really cool eye and mouth makeup. You'll love it."

Dork. But Vic smiled. Because he couldn't help but love him.

"So what're you doing?" Vic leaned on Kellin's shoulder as he stared at the jacket he was stitching and cutting.

"Prophet. I'm too lazy to do the makeup for Destroyer. And his jacket is cool."

"Dork," Vic muttered and pressed a kiss to Kellin's temple. He giggled and returned a kiss to Vic's cheek, but his lips slid down to Vic's own.

He dropped the scissors onto the table and wrapped his arm around Vic's waist, pulling the two closer. Vic's hands roamed; slowly and delicately. Up Kellin's neck and down his back until Kellin was pushing his hand down to his butt with a whine.

They stopped for a breath, Vic's mouth ghosting over Kellin's neck before attatching his lips to it. Kellin let out a quiet squeal. He bit Vic's shoulder when Vic pushed him against the counter and squeezed his ass.

"Mm, Vic, you're making me hard," Kellin whined.

Vic pulled away, locking eyes with Kellin. "Is that okay? Was all of this okay?"

"Yeah, of course, it was fine- I just, what do I do now?" Kellin looked down at the dent in his jeans. He squished his legs together, embarrased.

"You want me to help with it?" Vic whispered in Kellin's ear and down his neck. With a shaky breath, Kellin's nodded.

They were too aroused to find a bed and getting on the counter seemed too much work, so in a second Kellin was on the floor with Vic towering over him, his lips places sloppy kisses all over his neck and collarbone.

Kellin let out a particularly loud moan when Vic dragged his teeth down the expanse of his collarbone.

He was panting and letting out silent, near inaudible pleads for Vic to do something about his problem downstairs. Eventually, he did.

Vic groped Kellin's boner through his pants. Kellin squealed, whined and writhed. Vic continued kissing lower and lower down Kellin's stomach as his hands unbuttoned his pants.

Precum had already leaked onto Kellin's boxers. Vic stroked Kellin's clothed member in astonishment.

"So needy," he murmured and slowly pulled down the last piece of clothing.

Vic didn't have many dicks to compare Kellin's to, but he had to say it was better than the others he'd seen. Small or large, Vic would love him nonetheless.

His lips found their way around the tip of Kellin's cock.

GUYS I GIVE UP I CANT WRITE SMUT 💀 PRETEND KELLIN JUST CAME

Vic crawled up to Kellin with a smile, twirling Kellin's black hair with his finger.

"How was it?"

"Where'd you learn to give a blowjob like that?" Kellin panted.

Vic shrugged. "I guess I'm just a natutal."

"Bullshit," Kellin spat. "Where?"

"I had a boyfriend in the past," Vic mumbled. "He's nothing important, really. We fooled around a bit but our relationship was just that. Sex was his distraction, so we broke it off."

Kellin nodded. "Well, it was wonderful, but I have cum over me and so do you and we're on the floor. Can we clean up and.. cuddle?"

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont write fluff they were meant to half a meaningful conversation and then they sucked dick


End file.
